


Crown of Life

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kidnapping, Sacrifice, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Very early in their reign, the Pevensies uncover more secrets about the world they entered, a place where stones breathe and metal fuses on its own, a new set of neighbours, and a terrifying adventure.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Disquieting Events

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the initial idea for this came from a father/son video game scene, where the son is kidnapped and the father has a frantic fight to get him back, and I reimagined it with two of the Four, and then it grew to enormous proportions until that scene won't be for a few chapters. But it's the mix of two genius stories and nothing in it belongs to me.
> 
> Beta'd by trustingHim17, and thank you!

Lucy woke up quite uncomfortable. There was something digging into her head. She rolled onto her back (accidentally wrapping half her blankets around her), and reached a hand up to feel her head. There were the usual tangles in her fair hair, but those were normal, what-

Oh. Lucy blinked, feeling the hard, intricate metal of a very familiar accessory. She did not remember wearing her crown to bed.

No wonder she was uncomfortable, it had been pushing on the pillows and digging into her head. How odd that it hadn't fallen off. She curled her fingers around the front portion and tugged.

It didn't move.

Lucy sat up. She grabbed the crown with her other hand and pulled with both. The circlet still didn't budge; she could feel the entire circle above her hair, and it wasn't moving.

Lucy had the strangest feeling that this was the beginning of a new adventure. She got out of bed, or tried to, only to remember the blankets cocooning her. She fought her way out of them (without ripping them, as she knew poor Myrtle would spend all day repairing them if she did) and ran over to the mirror the Dwarves had gifted to her on her last birthday. It let her see herself from head to foot, but at the moment she only had eyes for her head.

She reached up with both hands and tugged again, watching her reflection do the same, but to no avail. Her crown stayed firmly affixed, though her face looked a bit red from her efforts. She gave up (for the moment, at least) and peered at it.

It was in the most comfortable place, just over her forehead, and the hair inside the circlet was smooth.

"I suppose I should be grateful," she told her reflection. "At least Susan won't fuss at my hair being messy when I can't fix it." She fetched her hairbrush and smoothed out the rest of her golden locks as quickly as she could, donned a favorite white dress, and hurried down to meet her siblings. This was most definitely something she'd need help with.

She checked the hall in both directions, and seeing no one, seated herself on the bannister and slid down, just like Peter and Edmund had taught her. She hit the floor with both feet, righted her dress, and walked into the breakfast room.

"I've go-" she began, only to stop, because Susan was also in the breakfast room, in a lovely blue silk dress, her hair unbraided, and, most unusually, wearing her crown. Susan did not believe formality and good manners were the same thing, and had dryly informed a stuffy Narnian ambassador that only one belonged at the breakfast table. And Susan was staring at Lucy's crown.

"You could not remove your crown this morning?" her gentle sister asked, and Lucy shook her head. Susan sighed. "Do sit down and eat, then. You'll most likely need it." Lucy sat, reaching eagerly for the apples the Dryads had brought from the nearest orchard. They were her favorite, and Susan had promised they'd plant an orchard at Cair Paravel some day.

"I say, Ed, aren't you dressed a bit formal for breakfast?" the girls heard Peter ask from just outside. Susan paused in the middle of setting toast on Edmund's plate, looking over at Lucy. Both rolled their eyes and looked towards the door, where their brother was replying as the two kings strolled in.

"You're one to talk, Peter, you've got your own crown on-" Both boys stopped short at seeing their sisters also crowned.

"To say what we must have all discovered, all of us woke this morning wearing crowns we did not remember putting on, and none of us can remove them," Susan stated, setting an apple on Peter's plate. "Sit down and eat. We'll deal with it after breakfast."

"You don't seem the least bit bothered by this," Edmund pointed out, taking his seat and scooping up the toast.

"I am very much bothered, because it's now a sure thing that my plans for the day are disrupted, and very likely my plans for the next few weeks. I would at least like to have my plans for my surprise at breakfast to happen, for it doesn't look like any of my others will. Do sit down."

"Pete, do you suppose it's happened to all of the headgear in Narnia?" Edmund asked around a mouthful to toast. He closed his mouth and swallowed it at Susan's frown,

Lucy laughed, setting down her fork as the others looked at her. "Can you just picture Oreius stuck in his helmet?"

The others began to grin. "Por and Leo in the fancy feathered hats the mice made for them as thanks."

"The Marshwiggles not noticing because we rarely see them without hats anyway."

"The baby Robins with the acorns and ribbons they used to tie them on, too heavy for their heads!" The Four were laughing so hard Peter began choking on the bite of apple he'd just taken.

"Is everything to Your Majesties' liking?" inquired a cheerful voice, and a Faun's head stuck itself inside the slightly open door. All the laughter died.

He wasn't wearing anything on his head.

"Everything is delicious this morning, and we thank you, Jolhan," Peter answered gravely. The Faun nodded and withdrew.

"Maybe he just didn't own a hat," Lucy offered. No one answered.

Susan set her silverware down and lifted the cream-colored napkin from her lap to the table. "I am no longer hungry," she explained quietly. "Peter, what are we going to do? I've never heard of anything like this before."

"If it wasn't all four of us, I'd guess Edmund was playing pranks again." The three looked at Edmund, who shook his head. They took him at his word (a blessing that still caught him by surprise at times, for it is no easy thing for a liar to take for granted), and everyone turned back to Peter. "I'd say head for the library, then, and call for the Owls, oldest Centaurs, and story-telling Dwarves. Let's see if we can figure out what this is all about."

As it turned out, they didn't have the time to do so. The three other than Susan pushed away their own plates and sent down their own napkins, but as they stood Peridan came running through the doorway.

"Your Majesties," he panted, bowing shortly. "There's been an attack on one of the Rabbit villages, and we don't know how to fight them off."

"Order our horses, we leave at once," Peter told Patterfeet, the Squirrel page who had followed Lord Peridan. He bounded off as Susan left wordlessly to gather supplies for them, and Lucy headed to the courtyard, knowing she could help best by informing their escort. Peter's question, "Why can't you fight them off?" faded behind as she moved through the corridors, Peridan's answer too faint for her to catch.

She found Orieus in the courtyard, swinging his greatsword against three Fauns. "Oreius!" she called, and he quickly stepped back, lowering his sword, turning to her and bowing. "Peter and Edmund are headed to one of Peridan's villages, there's been an attack," she rushed to tell him.

"I shall gather a troop of volunteers," he reassured her gravely, and she nodded her thanks as she ran on to the stable. She went straight to Edmund's horse, one she knew almost as well as she knew her own, for Edmund had helped her to learn to ride. She grabbed the saddle, her small arms wrapped around it as she stumbled under the weight, and climbed the stairs to settle it on the horse's back. By the time she'd finished with the rest of his tack, leading it out of the stall, the black stallion Peter used for short trips had been saddled as well. They led them outside, to find Edmund, Peter, and Peridan standing on the steps, the two Kings still crowned and all three clad in armor. Peter hugged her and kissed her forehead before mounting, settling Rhindon at his side, and Edmund hugged her as well.

"Look after Cair and Susan for us," he admonished.

"I know you said the same thing to Susan," Lucy accused, trying to smile.

"Two heads are always better than one," Edmund retorted. He swung himself up, and Lucy climbed the steps to stand by Susan.

"The blessings of the Lion on thee and thy quest," Susan said, her eyes turning from one to the other.

"And may the Lion guard thee and this home," Peter responded. They'd found the old sayings in one of the library books, and Lucy loved them enough they all began using them. Lucy held Susan's hand as they rode away.

Susan kept Lucy occupied through the long day. She set them a project, clearing out the older, unused rooms in Cair Paravel. If the attackers had not come by sea, Susan told her, they had reached far into Narnia to reach a place so near as Peridan's people, and the rooms might be needed. Lucy opened doors, dusted furniture, and laid down straw and blankets, reaching up absentmindedly throughout the day to push back a crown that wouldn't budge.

She hated wearing it, hated that her head was at least two inches taller than it should be. At one point she stood up, forgetting she was under a stone overhang, and rammed the crown into it full force. The crown transferred the force back onto her head and she sat down hard, reeling, putting a hand up and realising that despite the force the crown had not moved. Susan found her a few minutes later, sitting there blinking.

"Perhaps it's time for a break," she said quietly, sitting beside her sister and gently checking her head. "And you dented your crown!" she scolded, running her finger over the bent metal strand. Lucy scowled. Susan's crown looked perfectly at home on her beautiful head, and Lucy couldn't help feeling that it wasn't quite fair.

"I'm sorry I scolded," Susan said, noticing Lucy's scowl. "It's just—I don't like Peter and Edmund going out like this, when we don't know what's going on."

"It's all right. I'm sorry I was cross." Lucy smiled up at her. "Pax?"

Susan laughed. "A word I have not heard in some time! It's from that other place. Yes, pax. I came to find you, actually. I'm rather tired, and I thought the two of us could begin in the library, and maybe find something about this mystery of ours before the others get home, what do you think?"

So it was that the two Queens were in the library when their brothers returned.

"Peter! Edmund!" Lucy sprang to her feet, caught the book she'd jostled, and ran to her exhausted brothers. "What was attacking? Did you win?" Susan quietly pulled out chairs for them, and the two sank into them.

"It's not an army." Peter fell against the back of the chair and let his head drop onto the top. "At least not a _living_ army."

"Statues of stone," Edmund added. He'd fallen forward, resting on the library table, and his voice was muffled by his arms. "Stone statues that move, think, and even speak, though it's a language I've never heard."

"And they can fly. They all have wings," Peter put in wearily.

"Arms as round and bodies as big as a bear's, without the fur, though, and heads shaped like a monkey's, with giant wings attached. And completely made of stone, so they don't need weapons—they just club you over the head with an arm or punch you with a stone fist."

"Can we fight them?" Susan asked.

"Only the best of the Dwarf-made swords can cut through the stone." Peter closed his eyes. "We're going to need another solution. None of the ones at Peridan's wanted to talk, and the other place they appeared, well, Lord Branther wasn't one to wait around to ask."

"How many are there?" Lucy asked quietly, out of respect for her brothers' blatant weariness.

"The best count we've had is twenty at Peridan's, and thirty-odd at Lord Branther's." The others fell silent at Peter's statement. Fifty stone creatures were enough of an army to be a serious problem. Especially stone creatures that seemed to have no interest in peace. And where had they come from?

"Why attack there?" Susan voiced

"I believe they were looking for Cair Paravel, Your Majesties." Oreius stood in the entrance. Susan and Lucy got up at once, for there was a bandage around one of his arms. "My apologies for the delay; King Peter and King Edmund insisted I have the healers look at my arm." Peter smiled a bit around the corners of his mouth, though his eyes stayed closed. Edmund snorted.

"If either of us had taken a gash to the arm like that, you'd say the same." Oreius bowed and allowed Susan to check his bandage with gentle fingers.

"It doesn't need the cordial, does it?" Lucy asked anxiously.

"No, Your Majesty. But I do believe this situation needs our attention, if Your Majesties are ready?" Lucy and Susan returned to their chairs, Oreius following. But he paused as his sharp eyes took in the four sitting in the library, a place where they would normally be less formal, and he frowned. "Why are the four of you wearing your crowns?"


	2. A Most Unhelpful Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this story has a life of its own and I know where it’s taking me but not how we’re getting there. I’m not responsible for any of the mayhem the journey creates (I just wanted a two-chapter story), but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. 

“We’re not able to remove our crowns,” Susan offered, and Oreius frowned, his great face creasing and fierce as he looked at the Four. 

Particularly at Edmund. 

Who held up his hands. “Not my doing, Oreius, this isn’t a prank,” he said quietly, and the Centaur considered, and then nodded. 

“As Your Majesty says.” He walked forward, hooves clopping against the floor. “If Your Majesty will permit me?” he asked of Lucy, who was closest, with the gentleness she brought out in him. She nodded, and he placed his large, warm hands on the crown. She felt the lightest of tugs—first upward, then forward, then back, each one increasing as the Centaur pulled. The last was strong enough her head went backwards with the crown, and Oreius quickly ceased, catching her before she could hit the table, forgoing the pressure on her crown. “Those are not coming off.”

“None of us remember putting them on, Oreius.” Edmund’s hand gestured at himself and his siblings. “We woke this morning with them most firmly affixed to our heads.’” 

Oreius clenched his sword. “Do they hurt?” He waited as the four shook their heads. “Has the metal become heated, or have they changed in any other way?”

“It hurts when I hit my head on things,” Lucy put in, and Susan’s hand brushed her hair away from her cheek in commiseration.

“They cause no problems other than refusing to be removed,” the Gentle Queen informed the general, and Oreius frowned and shook his head. 

“This is beyond my knowledge, Your Majesties.”

“As the Owls are most certainly awake, we’ll start by calling them,” Peter’s tired voice interjected, and Lucy turned to see him pulling himself upright in his chair. “We’ll need their help with the rest anyway. Oreius, why do you believe they wished to attack Cair Paravel?”

Oreius drew himself up to report. “Lord Branther’s home is a large, defendable, and wealthy castle right on the coast. The creatures picked up some of the Rabbits they attacked, repeating the words ‘Cair Paravel’ at them over and over, though only a few understood it. Of those few, only three kept their wits enough to remember it when the Captain asked questions.” 

“So Cair is likely to come under attack quite soon,” Peter concluded grimly. 

“And if not Cair, then Narnian places the creatures think are Cair,” Edmund agreed.

“Cair Paravel is much easier to defend; should we try to draw the creatures here?” Susan asked after a pause. 

“Not till we know we can defend it, Your Majesty. It would not be wise to lose the Narnian symbol of hope, to say nothing of our strongest castle.” 

“Can we defend it?” Lucy looked from Peter to Edmund to Oreius.

“How do you fight stone?” Edmund asked, his tone as weary as Peter’s had been. “And we don’t know how many there are.”

“Did we do any damage, Oreius?” the older king asked.

“I sheared one stone wing from the back of one of the creatures, and it did not grow back, nor could it fly with only one wing. It required the help of two of its kind to leave the battlefield. We also found a stone finger that had cracked off, and pebbles of stone that resulted from heavy blows.”

“Not enough to disable the creatures, then.”

“Except the one without the wing, Your Majesty, no. And I took the creature by surprise; I do not know if I could do so again.”

“Then we find out what they want.” Susan’s firm voice stated, and she stood, smoothing her skirts. “I will go send for the Owls. Edmund, Peter, get some rest. It will take the Parliament a bit to get here.” Lucy caught the look her brothers sent each other, both agreeing silently arguing with Susan would not be worth the effort. _It’s not quite the same thing as saying she’s right_ , Lucy thought suddenly. _But she_ _is_ _. They’re tired._

“Lucy, if you could come help?” Susan called from the hallway, and Lucy hastily stood, following Susan out. She paused beside Oreius, putting her hand on his arm, and he bent far down so she could whisper in his ear.

“Make sure they rest?” she asked of him, and he solemnly nodded. “I’m so glad you’re alright, Oreius.” She hurried after her sister.

Susan, who was the best out of the Four at anticipating the various Narnian needs, was discussing with a yawning Hedgehog a place where several Owls could perch and a Centaur could stand comfortably.

“The dining hall, I think, Your Majesty. It’s got plenty of chairs, and Owls don’t mind gripping the backs of them, thank the Lion’s mane. And there’s plenty of places for Oreius to stand.”

“Then please ask any of the servants still awake to open the windows and bring enough candles to make human eyes comfortable, but not to overwhelm the Parliament’s.* Thank you, good cousin.” The Hedgehog hurried away, and Susan turned. “Lucy, there you are. Would you mind sending the messenger? I do believe some of the Bats will be about in the garden, and I’d like to get to the dining hall.”

“And I’ll send a messenger to Peter and Edmund once everyone arrives, to tell them where to go?” Lucy offered, and was rewarded with Susan’s soft, grateful smile. Taking that as thanks, Lucy turned towards the garden. 

She loved the gardens at night. She could hear her siblings reminding her that she loved them at any time of day, and it was true, but a Narnian garden in the starlight was not a thing to be missed. She drew a breath of the cool, fresh air, scented by the sea, and looked up to see the Leopard shining as clearly as a torch. She drew in another breath and headed for the trees. 

“Good Bats of Narnia!” she called softly, holding up her arms. Moments later, she heard the rustling of leathery wings, high voices squeaking, and her arms were suddenly clutched in tiny, gentle claws. One landed on each shoulder, and a gentle weight pressed her crown further down. 

“Queen Lucy!” “Queen Lucy!” the Bats chorused, talking over one another till the largest extended his wings outwards, and the rest fell silent. 

“What do you need of us, Queen Lucy? Our company, or our help?” the high voice asked, the blind eyes turning towards her face as the large ears twitched. 

Lucy smiled. She always did, as she marvelled at the way these creatures had been made. “Would you mind sending a messenger to the Parliament of Owls? We have two problems we need their help with.”

“Fairfly, away!” the largest Bat commanded, and the Bat who’d landed on her right shoulder took off with a push. 

“That is all, and thank you,” Lucy said, and the majority of Bats on her arms pushed themselves into the air as well, some brushing her hair with their wings in farewell. The largest stayed a moment longer. 

“Is there aught else we may do, our Queen?”

“Keep your ears open for any danger tonight?” Lucy requested, the earlier conversation coming to mind. The Bat bowed, and Lucy stroked one wing before hoisting it into the air.

She came back inside to find the dining hall lit with candles in corners and a few on the tables, but the atmosphere was peaceful and calm with the gentle lighting. A table with four chairs had been set at one end, with space for Oreius to stand to the side. 

As Lucy entered, Susan dragged a chair made for a Mouse to the front row of a collection of chairs in front of the table and paused to study the perches she’d arranged at varying heights. Lucy hurried forward to help.

Finished, Lucy looked around. “Are Peter and Edmund resting?”

* * *

As surprising as it sounds, Peter and Edmund _were_ resting. They’d watched their sisters leave the library, and then watched Oreius raise his eyebrow at them. 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Petr said hurriedly, standing. He’d recited a bit of a lecture to Oreius when he’d found the Centaur intended to escort the Kings to the library _before_ having his arm seen to, and Peter wasn’t in any hurry to have the favor returned. 

Oreius bowed. “I know how you have not had occasion to use it before, Your Majesties, as your tutors are stringent about when you should sleep, but the room adjacent is set with several beds; legend tells of former Narnian rulers habitually spending late nights in the library, and their subjects found it easier to help them rest if there was a bed close by.”

“Thanks, Oreius.” The Kings went out the library door the Centaur held open, and in the next room they found a small place, empty of furniture except for five beds placed around the three walls, away from the door. Beds with soft, white blankets, two fluffy pillows each, and low enough to the ground the kings could fall into them. Peter made sure Edmund made it to one—the one closest on the left—before falling into one himself, kicking off his boots once his face met the pillow. Two thuds told him Edmund had done the same, and it was the last sound Peter heard for quite some time. 

“The Owls are here, Peter, please get up.” A hand—a tiny hand, Peter realised, shook his shoulder.

“Mumph,” Peter grumbled, face still in the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” and that was Lucy’s voice, Peter realised, sounding apologetic, and he should get up and make her feel better, “I know you’re tired, but-”

“I’m up,” Peter interrupted her, rolling over. He rubbed his eyes. Lucy’s hand left his shoulder and when he opened his eyes he saw her by Edmund, across the room.

“Ed, I’m sorry to wake you, but you have to get up now.” She shook his shoulder like she’d shaken Peter’s, but Ed was a much sounder sleeper. Peter scowled. If he couldn’t sleep, Edmund couldn't either. Kings didn’t get the privilege of sleep. He picked up the pillow he’d been enjoying and threw it across the room, whooshing past Lucy and hitting Edmund on the head. 

Edmund woke with all his senses alert, rolling off the bed, tripping over his boots, and lurching towards the floor. Lucy caught his arm and steadied him, and Edmund did his best to incinerate Peter with a glare.

“What was that for?”

“Owls are here.” Peter reached for his own boots, ignoring the matching glares both his siblings were sending. 

“I could have woken him,” Lucy pointed out.

“He’s more awake this way.”

“ _He_ is right here, and wide awake, thank you,” Edmund grumbled, but he stood, Lucy letting him go, and he bent down to pull on his own boots. Both of them stood, yawning, and Lucy looked from one to the other and laughed. 

“You look like the Owls when we wake them during the day.” She reached into a pocket (because Narnian clothes are beautiful _and_ sensible, and girls clothes have pockets) and pulled out a comb. “Susan sent this.”

Peter ran it through his hair (best as he could around the crown), handed it to Edmund, straightened his clothing, and shook his head several times. Awake, he offered his arm to Lucy, and with Edmund on his other side, walked to the dining hall. They could hear the soft cooing of the Owls the entire length of the hall, a soft clatter that doubled when they opened the wooden door. 

Susan sat at the table, composed, but Peter could see the stress in the lines on her forehead under her crown. She rose as they entered, curtseying with a grace worthy of her crown, and Peter bowed, feeling his siblings respond as well. The Owls quieted, and the Four took their places, Oreius standing beside them. 

“We come seeking your advice,” Peter began. “This day Narnia suffered the attack of large stone creatures, and we ask for your help to find their origins, and their purpose.”

The Owls bowed. “What do they look like? Tell us, do!” the largest, whitest Owl asked.

Oreius stepped forward. “Near to a Centaur in height, bellies as round and broad as a Bear’s, with wings as broad as a flying Horse’s extending past their arms. Their heads are shaped like a Monkey’s, but with eyes like a Cat’s. They have no color, as they are all made of stone.”

The Owls exploded into noise.

“I’ve heard of them! When I was a chick-”

“They sound like the Telar, they do!”

“Not true! Not true! Tu-whoo! The Telar weren’t made of stone!”

“Peace!” Oreius thundered, and the Owls silenced. “You have, or have not, heard of such creatures?”

The large white Owl spoke again. “The Telar had bodies much like what you describe.”

“Our far neighbors to the west,” a brown Owl interjected.

“But they were not stone, oh no! Long ago they used to visit Narnia, for they loved the fruit we could grow.”

“They liked apples best. Tu-whoo!”

“No! My Grandfather said grapes!”

“But they were not stone?” Oreius interrupted, and a chorus of “No!”s answered him.

“They could still be the same. After all, it’s not the first time we have heard of creatures turned to stone,” Edmund pointed out, his face a bit pale. 

The other three glanced at him, Susan putting her hand in his arm.

“Could the White Witch have passed through their land, and done this somehow?” Peter asked the room.

“Her statues never moved, Your Majesty,” Oreius objected.

“And it doesn’t seem to fit; she liked utterly destroying her enemies, and this seems to leave them a bit of life.” Susan shivered at the thought, but said it anyway, and Edmund squeezed the hand on his arm.

“But beings can be turned to stone. And I doubt stone beings want fruit,” Peter said. “Does anyone know what they do want?”

The Owls were silent. 

“They are searching for Cair Paravel,” Oreius reminded them. “But we do not know what they want here. And there is the matter to bring forward, Your Majesty.” 

As one the Four put up a hand to feel the crowns resting on their heads.

“We woke this morning to find our crowns stuck to our heads,” Lucy informed the Owls. “And we can't get them off.” She frowned, remembering the bump she’d suffered earlier, and Peter trying to comb his hair.

“Have you heard of such a thing happening before?” Oreius asked.

The Owls had not, saying so in their usual chorus, and a few asking to try to remove the crowns themselves. The Four, resigned to that being the consistent response, allowed it, and four Owls, the four who had been most vocal, flew from their chairs to the backs of the Four’s, and gently grasped the top of the crowns in their beaks.

They were not successful, though one managed to tickle Susan’s neck with his feathers. Other Owls wished to try it, but the Four drew the line at one attempt, except Lucy, who promised they could try it later. 

“We thank you for your help, good cousins, and bid you goodnight,” Peter concluded wearily, when it seemed the Owls had no more to offer. With many bows, cooing, and rustling of feathers, the Owls flitted out, Oreius shutting the door behind them. 

The Four enjoyed the moment of peace, most leaning forward to rest their heads on their hands.

“Well, we have a name,” Edmund said at last. “Telar.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apparently owls don’t mind bright lights if they’re prepared for them. They have three eyelids, and can shield their vision from light if they know it’s coming, and have excellent vision in the day too, but flying in from the night into bright light would be painful. If you’re curious.


	3. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: sibling arguments, brilliant ideas, and endearing characters are not mine. Nor is the English language. Nor is Fanfiction.net. Nor is the air you're breathing while reading this. Nor is the time you’re it takes to be pursued. Nor is…  
> And so on. We good?  
> On to the very beginning of Edmund angst!   
> Because yes—it’s just the beginning. Promise. 
> 
> Beta’d by trustingHim17, who is even more of a lifesaver than spell check, and I’m sure at least one person knows how much they owe that particular program; I owe it readable stories.

“Knowing their name doesn’t really help us, especially if we don’t know the language,” Susan told Edmund in exasperation.

“Then we try to learn it,” Edmund bit back.

“Oh, that will be ever so easy when you’re fending them off with a sword and shield!”

“Enough,” Peter commanded. “It won’t do any good to fight about this now. We’re all too tired and not thinking straight. It’s off to bed. For _all_ of us,” he emphasised. “I mean it. No staying in the library trying to find just one more thing about them. It will wait till tomorrow.”

“Only if they don’t attack tonight,” Edmund muttered, but it was a half-hearted grumble. He was already yawning as he thought of bed. 

He made it to his bed without falling, thanks to Peter’s quick reflexes, and slept soundly through the night, but he woke to a terrible taste in his mouth and something tickling his eyes. He blinked, pushing himself up, and found that his crown had ripped a hole in his pillow during the night, and he’d managed to inhale at least one feather.

“Pah!” he spat, the limp feather slimy. “I feel like constantly wearing a crown is a biting metaphor for being a king,” he grumbled to himself, stuffing as many feathers as he could back into the pillow. He hauled himself out of bed, enjoying the soothing carpet beneath his feet, and stumbled towards the wardrobe he’d requested made as a reminder of the past. His valet had hung the outfit on it, as usual, so Edmund didn’t have to bother about picking something out, and Edmund slipped into it, into his boots, pulled things straight, and headed towards the door.

Only to catch a glimpse of something white in his reflection on his way out, and he backed up a step and looked into the mirror. He scowled at the feathers in his hair, picking the handful out and stuffing them back into the pillow, only to discover that had made him late for breakfast. His siblings nodded on his arrival, but his mood must have shown on his face, because they kept any comments to themselves. 

That was kind of them. It’d be kinder if they set breakfast at a much later hour, Edmund thought sourly, but as his gaze fell on the fragrant food and he inhaled, he felt a bit better.

The High King waited until they were done before starting a conversation. Edmund felt much more awake, and ready to tackle Narnia’s problems.

“Thoughts?” the High King asked.

“I think we should make a plan for the Telar first. They’re a more immediate threat,” Edmund said.

“Rather than an odd inconvenience that refuses to be removed,” Susan agreed. She smiled at him, an apology for the night before, and he accepted with a nod. 

“We need two plans, one for defense and one for getting information,” Peter began, leaning forward. None of them had bothered dressing up that morning, compulsory crowns excepted, Edmund noticed for the first time. Peter wore a simple tunic, not even Rhindon at his waist. Come to think of it, Edmund had been too tired to do more than his boots and outfit too. He’d have to watch Peter, make sure he didn’t overdo it today.

Or just set Susan on him. That would be far easier, and sometimes more effective. And it would get Susan’s attention away from Edmund as well. 

“Can we ask some of the Birds to follow them back, after their next attack?” Susan was asking, and Peter nodded. “But there’s nothing we can do to stop the attack, is there?” she ended with a frustrated sigh. 

“And not much we can do about weapons, either. Most claws can’t harm solid stone, at least not enough to deter them, and I’d not ask a Beast to risk his life for the sake of scratches that don’t even seem to hurt. That leaves arrows, which break without doing any harm, lesser swords which do the same, and better swords—we’ve a few of those now, since the Dwarves aren’t afraid they’ll end up in the wrong hands—which can, if given to Centaurs, actually stop them.”

“So we arm the Centaurs.”

“And Bears, and anyone else strong enough to crack stone. And ask the Dwarves to focus on swords, or any other weapons, that can deal damage to stone. A mace or a bludgeoning tool would probably work.” Peter paused. “It bothers me that there’s not more we can do to communicate with them. They don’t seem—they weren’t like the Witch’s soldiers. They hit those attacking them, but other than a severe fright, not a Rabbit was harmed, according to what I heard this morning from the Bats. They left the servants alone at Branther’s, too. Did a lot of damage to those actually fighting, and we might need your cordial there, Lu, if the attacks get bad and we need more soldiers, Branther’s got a training regime like Oreius’, and his men are good.” Lucy nodded. “But they don’t hurt anyone not fighting them,” he said, returning to his frustration. 

“It’s like they’re looking for something,” Edmund commented. “But we can’t help them find it without knowing what it is, Peter.” 

“Then let’s go ask them.” There was a pause, every sibling turning towards Lucy, who dropped her gaze. 

“We don’t speak their language,” Susan reminded her, more gently than she’d said it the night before. 

“But surely there’s someone who does! We can’t-can’t have lost that much in the winter.” She looked from one sibling to another, questioning. “Can we?”

“An Owl,” Peter says after a moment. “One of them might remember.”

“Or an Elephant. Oreius told us they have long memories, remember?” Susan said absently. “But an Owl or an Elephant are too large to be anything but a target. We can’t send them.”

“They haven’t hurt anyone but those who attack them as they make their alarming appearances,” Edmund reminded her.

“That doesn’t guarantee the Beast would be safe! We could be sending something too large to hide on a mission where it doesn't have a chance,” Susan objected.

“A Mouse, then,” Lucy offered. “Paired with an Owl, or Elephant. They’re small enough to sneak in, and brave enough they’d love to be asked.”

“That’s an idea, Lu. They could find a safe way in, close enough for someone to listen-”

“And the Beast could translate,” Edmund finished Peter’s thought. “But we’d better have the Birds ready to follow, just in case the attack comes sooner than our Mouse finds them.” Peter nodded.

“In that case, we’re likely to have an entire troop of Mice looking,” Susan put in wryly. “They’ll all be delighted to be asked, and fight over the honor unless we ask them all.”

“Which means ordering them to very strictly not challenge, speak to, or sabotage the Telar until they’ve found a partner who can translate.” Peter’s head hit the table, his crown making a hollow _thunk._

“It’s a place to begin, and the sooner we do begin, the better” Susan said briskly. Peter brought his head up in time to catch her smile, and he reluctantly smiled himself. 

“I’ll take the Dwarves,” Edmund offered, taking the last piece of toast.

“I’ll speak with the Centaurs and other soldiers who will do the actual fighting.” Peter stretched his arms out.

“I’ll speak to the Birds,” Susan said.

“And I’ll take the Mice,” Lucy finished. Smiles spread from one to another, all pausing to revel in that sweet moment of working together, of sharing the load and shared plans. 

And then all of it became, once again, completely unnecessary. 

Because the Four stood just as shadow blocked the light in the window, and they turned to see a Telar’s wings flapping outside just as the glass shattered. Peter and Edmund each grabbed their closest sister, pulling them in front and shielding them from the glass, their other hands reaching uselessly to their waists. Neither of them had swords. 

“Get out!” Peter yelled, pushing Susan towards the door, and she grabbed her skirts and ran, Peter’s hands already reaching behind him for the two younger children, pulling them around the table. The Telar outside the window made a strange bark, then flung himself through the window. Edmund saw Peter turn, bracing himself to meet the statue, to give his siblings time. Edmund _hated_ Peter in that moment, hated his bravery and selflessness and everything that made him king—and then he got over it, already reaching for his brother’s shoulder to yank him back to safety.

But he was too late, for the bark had been a signal, and the room was filling with Telar. His outstretched hand was grabbed in an unforgiving grasp, and other hands grabbed shoulders with the same bruising strength. The statues had Peter, too, and behind him Edmund heard Susan scream.

“Susan!” He fought the hands on his shoulders, on both his wrists now, but they were too strong, as immovable as Cair Paravel’s walls, and they were pulling his wrists up, stretching over his head, and a solid stone arm hit his knees, and then he was being held, clutched against that stone stomach, and the hands on his wrists transferred them to the hand around his back. 

“Lucy!” That was Susan again, and he fought, arching his body, trying to slip out of the hold, trying to see either of his sisters, and he heard Peter grunt, but the stone bodies were everywhere, he couldn’t see beyond flapping wings, no matter how much he twisted, and then-

Then the floor dropped from under him, for the Telar had hurled himself out of the window, wings flat against his body, and then they spread out, and a strong _flap, flap, flap_ , heavier than Edmund had ever heard it sound, stone against air. The Telar was flying, and Edmund, held in his arms, could only see the bright, blue Narnian sky. 

It had been moments since the shattering of the window. 

Other sounds began, thuds and cracking wood, and Edmund realised it was arrows, arrows uselessly hitting the stone, as the Telar flew higher and higher, almost above eyesight. 

Other heavy _flaps_ joined the noise as well, even as the wood and thuds ceased, and Edmund looked up at his captor. The stone eyes with stone pupils were turned towards the sky, as if Edmund, with all his struggles, was an afterthought, a baby waving its arms, and Edmund ceased trying to twist out of its grip. 

Wherever they were going, it would not help if the Telar dropped him now.

* * *

Peter had the same thought. And he didn’t like it. Susan had cried out, twice, and once had been Lucy’s name. He hoped Edmund, at least, had gotten away; he was the fastest of the Four.

He had to hope Edmund got away, because at least one of them needed to be free to mount a rescue. Peter couldn’t seem to rescue himself right now. If he did—there was a nasty drop.

A second later his heart jumped to his mouth as he thought suddenly that he’d won, he’d twisted his way free, and he’d been dropped, because he _fell_. 

Stone arms still held his wrists, were underneath his legs, though, and Peter realised the Telar was diving, diving for the ground as it must have dived for Cair Paravel, too high to be spotted before then. 

They fell, and fell, and Peter gulped and grabbed the stone fingers, hard, to keep from screaming, because this felt like falling to a messy death, and Peter _prayed_ his siblings weren’t dying too, and then a _flap_ filled his ears, and the stone wings were extended over them, and their rush halted. _Crack,_ _crack,_ and _crack!_ filled Peter’s ears even as branches appeared above the stone wings, and Peter saw the tops of trees grow taller and taller above them, and a breath later they landed.

They weren’t falling any longer. Thank Aslan, they weren’t falling. Peter breathed in. And out. And back in, Narnian air, just _breathing_. 

His kidnapper was looking at him, and Peter raised his chin, ready to fight, ready to do anything but scream, but the Telar just set his feet on the ground, still holding his wrists. Peter looked around, and saw more Telar. Seven more, just in front and to the sides, and Peter’s eyes flashed as he saw one of them holding Lucy, much the same way he was being held. 

His valiant sister’s cheeks were red and her eyes wide with excitement, eyes turned in wonder to the Telar’s wings, before she shook herself and glared at the mountainous Beast beside her, and Peter couldn’t help the quick smile that crossed his face.

“Put me _down_ ,” a voice behind him ordered, and Peter’s smile fled. That was Edmund’s voice, and now he was saying- ”Su! All right?”

“All right,” but Susan’s voice sounded breathless, and Peter twisted, trying to find her, only to have the grip on his wrists clench painfully, and his Telar open his stone mouth, grumbles and sharp sounds emerging. Another Telar answered him, then two more at the same time, and Peter heard steps come up behind him. Another Telar brought rope and bound his hands together, and his feet, despite Peter’s twisting, and then something slipped over his eyes, and Peter couldn’t see. 

He could hear, though, and he heard Lucy’s sharp gasp, and he called out her name, sharply.

“I’m all right!” she called back. “They blinded me, and it surprised me. I was thinking about how they didn’t hurt the Rabbits, and I haven’t been fighting back. They’ve been gentle.”

_Thank Aslan_. 

“Ed, you all right?” he asked, raising his voice over the continuing sounds of Telar conversation.

“Peter? I’m fine, you know, other than all four of us being blindfolded, bound, and _ooof_ -” Edmund broke off, but Peter didn’t ask what was wrong, because stone arms had scooped him up again as well, and with more flaps and the cracking of branches, they took off again. 

Peter did not like flying bound and blind. His only constants were the two arms and the stone he rested against, and everything was air and wind. He hated being blind. 

That, perhaps, he could fix. He began rubbing his head, as softly, gently as possible, against the stone stomach he rested against, trying to push the blindfold down, down, there, there, he could feel it moving, feel it sliding over his nose, the pressure falling away from the top of his eyelids, down, down, and there!

He could _see_. Only the blindfold was around his mouth, now, having dropped as soon as it got over his nose, and he didn’t want to shake it away and have his captor see. But flying was so much easier to handle if he wasn’t blind. 

They flew for perhaps an hour, judging by the slowly climbing, golden sun. Then again they dived, and Peter sincerely hoped Lucy enjoyed it, because he decided, with two experiences to judge on, that it was not for him. 

They didn’t fall into forests this time. They fell into caves.

Caves that echoed the voices of the Telar, caves where light quickly vanished behind them and Peter grew afraid once again, till he remembered their cat-like eyes and thought maybe they could see in the dark. 

See better in the dark, he amended, as he heard stone crash against stone. He wondered, heart beginning to pound, why they didn’t light torches. He did not have to wonder long.

He heard snaps, growls, _rage_ underneath him, and he’d heard those sounds before. The sounds of the White Witch’s army, of the evil creatures that haunted the night, that he and Oreius and Edmund all the soldiers still fought against. He stiffened, reading himself to fight, even bound, wondering if they’d been brought here as a sacrifice, a victory, if the Fell had made new allies of these stone creatures of the sky. Or if the Witch had enslaved them long ago. 

But they flew over the noise, leaving it behind as well, going deeper and deeper, until the only noise was the flap of wings.

They landed again with a soft thump, and again Peter’s feet were released, and he staggered in the dark. The hands felt around his wrists, pulling on the rope, then moved down and did the same to his feet, then up, brushing his elbow, his shoulder, finding the former blindfold and pulling it tight. Peter gasped, and it tightened between his lips. He was effectively gagged, whether his captor meant to or not. A hand pushed his shoulder and Peter fell, the other hand grabbing him and slowing his descent, till he was sitting on a hard cave floor. 

Thudding sounds—the Telar walking away. Several of them.

Where were his siblings? They’d flown over the Fell-

_Oh, Aslan, don’t let the Telar have dropped them. Don’t let them have left me till last, don’t let me have outlived my siblings. Please, save them, keep them from the claws that could have-_

_They are in Your paws. Save them. Save them. Susan, Edmund, Lucy, Aslan, they-_

“I guess we know what they were searching for,” Edmund’s voice suddenly offered in the dark, from some distance away, and Peter breathed out a half-choked gasp, blinking rapidly in the dark to stop his eyes from filling. _Edmund._

_Edmund was alive._

“We were followed,” Susan’s voice offered a moment later, even farther away by the sound, and Peter could hear her fighting to be calm, the tiny break in her voice, the way she paused to breathe. _Oh, Susan._ ”I saw two Robins and an Eagle flying behind us, before they landed and bound our eyes.”

“I hope they didn’t try attacking,” Edmund put in grimly, and Peter ached with the thought of the three brave Birds, fighting an army of stone. Because they would have, if they saw their Kings and Queens captive, their fierce loyalty to the Four—still _Four_ , right?

_But where was Lucy?_

“Lucy?” Susan called a moment later, and Peter held his breath. 

“I’m here. I think my Telar liked me, he set me on a rock as a chair,” Lucy’s voice offered, half laughing, half crying. 

“Peter?” Edmund asked, and Peter tried to make a noise around his gag. Not loud enough, for Edmund’s voice rose. “Peter?” Bound, Peter tried to roll, but stopped when at his sisters’ voices.

“Peter?” “Peter?” 

“All together, when I say three,” and Edmund sounded grim. “One, two, three-”

“ _Peter!”_ their voices chorused, and Peter clenched his fingers, helpless to reassure them. 

“Edmund, I heard-” and Susan’s voice caught, and she cleared her throat, trying to be a Queen, an adult, the _oldest_ , “the, the growls, when we came in—you don’t think-”

“No,” Lucy interrupted, voice fierce. “I _don’t_.” Edmund didn’t answer. 

Peter had begun rolling again, listening for the voices, following the sound as his head began spinning, and how the dark could spin when he couldn’t see anything was a problem for a later time, because he was close to Edmund, and _there_. Peter rolled into him.

Edmund yelped, jerking away, but Peter firmly rolled into him again, reaching out with his bound hands and grabbing Edmund’s arm with soft, non-stone fingers. Edmund froze.

“Peter?” he asked quietly, hopefully, and Peter made the loudest noise he could through his gag, a muffled _yes_. Edmund’s fingers reached out, going up his arm, towards his face.

“Edmund?” Susan asked, and Peter could feel his brother’s sigh of relief when his fingers touched Peter’s crown, still firmly set on his head. Edmund’s breath smelled of toast.

“I’ve got Peter here, he’s gagged,” Edmund called softly. “But he seems to be all right.” Edmund paused. “Better, maybe, now that he’s gagged,” Edmund joked softly, and Peter elbowed him, but he’d heard Edmund’s voice waver, and he also put his bound arms around him. _I’m here. I’m fine_. “He’s fine,” Edmund called, his voice firmer. “Elbowing me in the stomach, as thanks for talking for him.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Lucy said, her voice close to sobbing.

“Can we untie ourselves?” Susan asked a moment later, and Peter lifted his arms to feel down to Edmund’s wrists, to the rough rope tied there. “Lucy, don’t move, I’ll come to you,” and Peter could hear the soft sounds of footsteps and the rustling skirts.

Edmund’s rope had no give around his wrists, looped several times around each. The ends were knotted in a complex knot Peter couldn’t begin to understand without light, though he didn’t give up trying. He did remove Edmund’s blindfold, not that it helped in the dark, and Edmund loosened and removed his gag. Then he went back to the ropes, trying again. Behind him he could hear Susan and Lucy trying to find each other, talking to each other in a soft game of Blind Man’s Bluff to draw close together in the dark. 

They’d just found each other, removing each other’s blindfolds, then Lucy sliding to the floor so Susan could reach her wrists better, when first thumps, and then footsteps sounded again, and the Telar approached. 

They carried lighted torches. The firelight fell dully on the grey stone, and Peter noted that one of the carriers did not have a wing. _Oreius_ , he thought, remembering the Centaur’s story. That one was one of three in the lead, and behind them Telar were flying, landing on the edge of a black gap, and Peter realised—with relief, when he thought of the Fell nearby—that a chasm separated their house-sized cave from the rest. _Though it will be harder to escape_. 

The Telar came closer, heads pivoting as they looked at the four. Of the three in front, the one on the right murmured something in their rough words to the others, and the Telar looked from the Kings to the Queens. 

_They want_ _us_ _for something,_ Peter thought, heart sinking. There were twenty Telar at least, and he knew whatever they had planned, he was helpless. 

The Telar in the middle and to the right were holding large stone hands out towards each group, and Peter, a bit of confused, saw the one on the left (without the wing) impatiently smack the shoulder of the one in the middle and paw at his head, then drop his hand down below his shoulder and pull on nothing. 

_As if he had long hair,_ Peter realised, glancing towards his sisters, noting with a flare of anger the bruise on Susan’s cheek. The other two Telar looked once more at the Queens, then nodded in agreement, gesturing shooing motions at them. Several Telar from behind them went to pick them up, lifting them up to fly again. The one in the middle looked at the two Kings. 

“Cair Paravel,” it said in guttural tones, pointing at the Queens. “Cair Paravel.”

_They’re taking them back to Cair Paravel,_ and oh, the _joy_ of that realisation. Perhaps Lucy was right, perhaps they didn’t hurt those who didn’t fight them, didn’t hurt unless they had to, and there was a chance now—if he could trust the Telar—that Lucy and Susan would go home. 

He nodded at the Telar. “Thank you,” he voiced, glad he kept the words steady. The Telar nodded back.

“So they didn’t need our sisters,” Edmund muttered beside him, tensing as more of the Telar trooped over towards the Kings. “So why’d they bring them?”

“And what are they going to do with us?” Peter added, also low. He did not want Susan and Lucy thinking about that, when there was nothing they could do and they were about to go home. 

The three stone leaders were closer now, and their entourage encircled the Kings. The three were again discussing something, this time with more animated gestures, arguing, even. Finally the one in the middle shrugged. The one with one wing rumbled a sharp command, and stone hands grabbed the Kings’ arms, pulling them to their feet. The one-winged Telar came closer, holding his hand over Peter’s head, and then moving it over Edmund’s, going down that scant distance between their heights. He moved back to Peter’s head, going up, then down again over Edmund’s, and he nodded, turning to his two cohorts and speaking a short explanation before stepping back. The middle one nodded again.

“Cair Paravel,” he boomed, pointing at Peter, and a Telar picked him up at once. Then he looked at Edmund, and slowly shook his head.

“Not Edmund?” Peter asked, his heart picking up speed. “Wait!” he yelled as the three Telar turned to leave, and his voice echoed through the cave so loudly they paused. “ _What are you doing with Edmund?_ ” He struggled to sit upright in his captors arms, and pointed with both bound arms to Edmund. “What are you doing with my brother?”

The three Telar looked at each other, discussed something, and then looked at him. They pointed at Edmund and shook their heads.

“ _I_ _know! What does that mean?”_

“Peter!” Edmund said sharply, and Peter glanced over to see Edmund’s face was white, his eyes steadily staring at Peter. When he saw he had Peter’s attention, he shook his head.

Whatever was happening, Edmund did not want Peter to risk their captors’ anger to rescue him.

_Edmund_ _did not get to make that decision_.

“I need to know what you’re doing with my brother,” Peter repeated, though less loudly.

“We all do,” added Susan from across the cave, and the Telar swivelled their heads to look at her at the sound.

“Please,” added Lucy, pleading, and her tone would have made her meaning clear in any language. The Telar who held her looked down at her and said something slowly to the three. A moment of silence followed.


	4. Finally, Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: since I am presumably still alive to post this (thank you for not killing me), I’ll take the chance to admit I don’t own this story. 

The Telar stood as still and silent as the statues they resembled, till the middle one finally gave a sharp bark. The Telar all folded their wings against their backs, and the three holding the rulers set them back on their feet. 

“Great going, Peter, now we’re  _ all _ in trouble again,” Edmund muttered under his breath. He hadn’t  _ wanted _ Peter out of his sight, not after the fears that had raced through him when Peter couldn’t answer (Peter  _ couldn’t  _ be gone, he  _ couldn’t) _ — but he’d wanted all of his siblings back safe at Cair Paravel more than his own calm. He could have faced the trouble on his own, with Aslan on his side. Or with himself on Aslan’s side, rather. Now, just when he’d been about to be given what he’d wanted, Peter had had to go and spoil it. Possibly. The Telar still seemed to be thinking.

Then the middle Telar—the one in charge, Edmund was sure—boomed something towards the Queens, and Edmund froze, because the one holding Lucy shifted. He stood behind her, and he was lifting her arms in his own and holding them out, her bound hands in the air. What was he  _ doing _ ?

Another Telar walked around from behind them, and he held a steel knife. 

“ _ Stop!” _ Edmund yelled, surging forward, only to be caught by four or five hands. He twisted, fighting, trying to get to her, hearing Peter and Susan yelling the same, and watching as Lucy swallowed, the torchlight shining on her wide eyes as the Telar took one of her hands —and pricked one finger.

Edmund quieted, panting, watching. The Telar put one hand below her bound ones and squeezed her pricked finger with the other, waiting till a single drop of blood—Edmund could barely see it fall—splashed from her finger into his open palm. He let her go, speaking again in their rumbling tongue, and closed his hand. 

“Lucy?” Edmund heard Peter ask.

“I’m all right, it doesn’t really hurt,” his younger sister replied bravely.

_ Thank Aslan. Peter, if you provoke them again, I’m going to bash you over the head with Rhindon’s hilt.  _ Not something he would say out loud, but-

More sounds rolled from the mouth of the Telar with the knife, and Lucy froze, staring at him. He waited, everyone waited, but Lucy didn’t move. The Telar gestured at Susan, and Lucy cleared her throat.

“Judduham—that’s the name of the Telar in front of me—is going to do the same thing to all of you he just did to me, but he’s asking us not to be afraid. He said he wouldn’t hurt us.”

“You understood him?” all three of them demanded, and Lucy nodded. The Telar—Juddahum—growled something again. 

“He said that’s what he’s doing—it’s their kind of magic, and it allows all of them to understand us, and us to understand them.”

“Sounds useful to me, and I wish they'd done it before,” Edmund muttered to himself. He watched careful as Juddahum walked towards Susan. She watched him with wary eyes, but she held her hands out, letting him take her right and prick her finger, squeezing till a drop of her blood fell on his palm. He closed that hand and repeated what he’d said before. There was a brief pause.

“Good afternoon,” Susan said, her tone carrying the hint of a question, and Juddahum nodded and spoke back. “Thank you, I am sure it will heal soon,” Susan responded, voice calmer. Juddahum spoke one short word and turned to walk the width of the cave towards Peter. 

“Last to see Aslan, last to fight the witch, and now last to understand the giant stone creatures who want me for something. At least this one’s not my fault,” Edmund complained, again under his breath, but watching intently as Juddahum repeated the ceremony. He spoke to Peter briefly, and Peter thanked him. Then at last the Telar moved towards him. Edmund held his hands out quickly. The stone fingers were firm but did not hurt, and the prick of the knife hurt no more than the prick of a pin. Edmund noted curiously that, though three drops of blood had fallen into Juddahum’s palm, no trace of them remained. When he closed his palm, spoke the spell, and opened it again, Edmund’s blood vanished as well. 

Juddahum did not speak as he returned to the ranks of his kind, and Edmund noted that uneasily. But now that they could understand each other—in theory, anyway, and Edmund would really like to test that—perhaps they could figure out what this was all about.

The Telar spoke first, the sounds becoming words the instant they reached Edmund’s ears.

“What is it you were yelling?” asked the Telar in the middle of the three, grey eyes on Peter. 

“I am High King Peter, throned by Aslan of the realm of Narnia.” The Telar swept his wings forward around his shoulders and bent his head, and Peter, recognising it as a salutation, bowed back—and didn't fall over with his hands bound, Edmund was relieved to see. “I sought your attention because you are taking my brother, and I demand to know where and why.” 

“I am Zedekah, leader of the remaining Telar,” the middle one responded. “We need a king.”

“For what?”

Zedekah’s wings moved up and down with his shoulders as he shrugged. “We need a king.”

“You are the leader of the Telar already; why do you need a king?”

“We need a king,” he repeated for the third time, and Susan spoke for her side of the cave, the Telar turning as one to look at her.

“Please understand, you brought us into the cave over the heads of our enemies. Are they your allies?”

“The filth at the entrance?” the third, two-winged member of the three sneered. “They are nothing but the sparrows below us.”

“This is Jumak, head of the King’s bodyguard,” Zedekah stated.  _ Somehow, I’m not reassured by that statement, _ Edmund thought. “I understand the two of you are Narnia’s Queens.” He made the same sweeping motion with his wings to Susan, then Lucy. “We share this cave because their presence proved that Narnians do not come here, but we have no dealings with the creatures at the entrance. We are only here for a king.”

“And you found two of them, and two Queens. What do you want with Edmund?” Peter broke in.

“We-”

“Need a king,” Peter chorused with him. “Why won’t you tell us why?” The Telar said nothing, and Edmund felt his stomach twisting. “If you need a king,” Peter asked slowly, and Edmund looked at him sharply, “why does it have to be Edmund?” 

“Don’t you dare, Peter!” Edmund snarled, and for the first time since they could understand each other Zedekah looked at him, then back at Peter. 

“Khonat remembers more of humans from the days before,” Zedekah said gravely. “He said that the taller one in your young is older, and the shorter is younger. It is a hard thing for a country to lose its king. We wish to leave the older, for it is usually the older who is the higher. We do no more harm than we must.”

“Why is this something you  _ must _ do?” Lucy broke in, over Peter’s objections, and again the Telar swivelled towards her, even faster than they had towards Susan. But again they answered with silence. “Please, tell us, why do you need Edmund?”

“We need the crown of a king,” the Telar holding her said, his hands holding her so carefully.

“Quiet, Sirrioth!” Zedekah thundered, and the Telar bowed his head, his wings falling limp till the stone feathers at the bottom brushed the cave floor. 

“My crown will not come off,” Edmund broke in. Very slowly, Zedekah turned to him.

“I know.” The stone eyes stared, and Edmund watched, the cynical part of his mind, the part he’d never been able to completely quiet, laughing as stone wrinkles appeared on Zedekah’s forehead. It looked funnier than the Professor ever had, but the rest of Edmund, the part growing into being a King, noticed how the leader suddenly looked old. He appeared weary, as if it suddenly took effort to move.

“Zedekah!” the one-winged Telar snapped, hitting Zedekah’s shoulder again, and Zedekah shook himself, the wrinkles disappearing, his head coming up, and his wings lifting as if to take flight. 

“Peace, Khonat.” The Telar turned back to Edmund. “Your crown will come off at our command,” he told the King quietly. Edmund held his gaze, questioning, hoping he’d say more, but he turned away, towards the Queens. “Sirrioth, Tenelkah, Jumanuth, take the King and Queens home. Jumak, you will accompany them and see them safe.”

“My place is back home, to see this done!” Jumak whirled on his leader, his tone like smashing stones, his wings half-spread and his arms rising in fists. 

“Your place is where I say it is,” Zedekah replied, as immovable as a mountain. He stared at the leader of the bodyguard, and gradually Jumak’s wings and fists came down.

“As you command,” he said sullenly. 

“Take my sisters home,” Peter broke in quietly. The Telar had been watching their leaders, and Peter, with a twist of his body, slipped out of the stone grip and walked forward till he stood before Zedekah, looking up at the tall monkey face. “I go with my brother.” 

Jumak broke the silence with a harsh, long laugh, probably at the sight of a boy challenging a stone creature four times his size. “Now that is a king!” he chortled, wings flapping to keep up upright as he doubled over. Edmund scowled at him, heart hammering.

“Peter, you can’t, Narnia needs-”

“We’re coming too,” and Edmund closed his eyes as Lucy’s voice interrupted him. Couldn’t any of his siblings see sense? He looked pleadingly at Susan, who was biting her lip, the bruise on her cheek still darkening in the light of the torch.  _ Please _ , he thought at her _ , go home where you’re safe. Take the others as well.  _ Susan looked back at Zedekah

“He’s our  _ brother _ .” Zedekah did not respond. “Please, if you won’t give him back, can’t you see we need to go with him?”

“At least one of you should go back to Cair Paravel,” Peter responded, turning, dwarfed by the figure behind him. “We can’t leave Narnia without any of us.”

Edmund hurried to help him. “And they’ll need you as well, Peter-”

“And it really should be both of you,” Peter finished quietly, ignoring Edmund. 

“But we  _ can’t _ leave you here, we can’t,” Lucy protested, before a small yelp of surprise escaped her when Sirrioth scooped her up and cradled her, rocking her as if she were a baby. 

“Zedekah.” The warning tone came from Jumak. “You cannot give them their way just because they are children.” Zedekah did not respond. 

“You did not know we were children?” Susan asked, and Zedekah looked at her with the same slow look he had given Edmund.

“News came to our country that two Kings and two Queens had defeated Jadis, the White Terror.” Zedekah’s voice rumbled like the stones falling slowly, slow enough to trace their path, remembering their news. “We did not think the strength of children could have defeated, and so we came for a king. When we took you from Cair Paravel, one of the few names of this place that remain in our memory, refreshed by the story of your crowning, we took speed over sight. When we landed and set you down to bind you, that none would twist and fall during flight, and blindfolds that none would fight, many of us did not remember your kind being so small. When we set you here we went to take council, and to confirm with many minds the evidence of our minds, that you were indeed children. This is a hard thing for us.” 

“Why?” Lucy asked, her head barely visible from the cradle of Sirrioth’s arms.

“Our young are still.”

As one the Telars’ wings drooped, a soft scratching filling the cave as stone feather tips touched the floor, before a mourning silence took its place.

“It will not be easier for them if they come.” Khonat the One-Winged placed a hand on Zedekah’s round arm. “It is not easy for any of us, and if they come, they will have to see it happen.”

“Even if they see what they have saved?” the leader responded, turning to him. “Even if they see that it is easy? Will it not be easier then?”

“Please let us come,” Susan asked softly. “We may even find another way to help you, without you keeping our brother.” 

“I do not think that is possible,” Zedekah responded heavily. “But you may come.” He raised his wings, tone rising in command. “We fly home.” 


	5. A Whole New World...A Disconcerting One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: .watashi no janai

The cold, constant wind was a relief on Susan’s aching cheek. Her sides still ached from where her carrier—Jumak’s shadow, and Susan did not think better of him for that—gripped her till she bruised, and it only grew worse as she shivered. They had been flying for hours. Hours that grew worse as her imagination played to her fears.

Because they still didn’t know why the Telar needed Edmund. Susan felt her heart clenching. They had lost Edmund so soon after coming to Narnia, and she feared, sometimes—oh,  _ sometimes _ , that Narnia would be his end. She’d put it from her mind at the beginning of the flight, as the Telar fell into formation, extinguished their torches, and lifted off the ground with the beating of stone wings. They flew through the dark, above the growls once more, only this time a  _ whoosh _ was added to the noise, and Susan realised the Fell were throwing stones. Then the daylight touched them, and the Telar had gone up, up, over the rocks of the mountain, into the sky — even above the clouds. 

Once there, she’d heard Lucy’s cheerful voice speaking with Sirrioth, asking him about his wings, how much energy it took to fly, and how much he liked flying. The rumbles of his answers were too low to catch, though Susan tried to distract herself by imagining the answers.. But as the hours slowly passed, even Lucy’s voice ceased, and Susan knew her own captor would not speak to her unless necessary. He glared whenever she shifted, his fingers tightening. But she hurt. As time dragged on she made the choice again and again, as to which was worse, the bruising or the cramp? Or the worry for Edmund pulling at her heart?

The sun set, and the night grew colder; Susan’s shiverings rubbed her arm raw where she was pushed against the stone. Still the Telar flew on. Finally Susan fell asleep. 

She woke to sunshine and the sound of the Telars’ voices. They were calling Peter, Lucy, and even Edmund’s name (yes, she had noticed how few of the Telar could look at or speak to him, and it worried her), telling the children to wake, they were landing. Hers didn’t bother, just gripping her again as he began to dive. Susan closed her eyes, hating this part, hating the way her stomach jumped to her mouth and the entire world screamed she was falling. But Lucy was laughing again, and Susan smiled involuntarily just before they landed. She opened her eyes. 

The rest of the Telar had dispersed; only Sirrioth, her keeper, Edmund’s carrier, and Juddahum, who held Peter, had landed on this—tree house? The place seemed full of very old trees with immense trunks, reaching out with sweeping branches, and so many open spaces between them. Spaces for the Telar to land, Susan realised. And running from branch to branch were sturdy wooden planks, set together to make a floor. Her Telar dropped her feet, and took his arm away from her waist a moment later, and every muscle in her legs cramped. She fell on her rear, holding her breath to keep the cry inside, and tried to stretch out her legs, begging the pain to stop. Gradually the muscles stopped twitching.

Susan looked around, running her fingers over the platform she sat on. Everything seemed made of wood, which took Susan by surprise, for it seemed out of place with a stone race.  _ Only _ , she remembered,  _ they haven’t always been stone. This must have been what they loved before they were...changed? I wonder if they were changed, or if they were cursed? _

The flap of wings drew her attention back to the four statues; they were leaving, all but Juddahum, who walked towards her. “Be wary of the sides, for you have no wings to catch you,” he advised gruffly, and she blinked, before twisting to look behind her. Her bearer had set her right on the edge, with her back to it, she realised with pounding heart, and she scooted back. But once she knew she was far enough away, she peered over the edge, made curious by the brief glimpse she’d had. 

They were at least four stories high. Below them other platforms spread out, stone statues dotting them like ants on a bitten apple; below them stood a city with no ladders, stairs, or connections between the levels—why would they be needed, among creatures that could fly? Just floors and floors, built around trees, with the trunks on the lower levels with houses around them. Susan and the others were resting on a street, a single house at one end. 

“Oooohh!” Lucy exclaimed in wonder from right beside Susan, and Susan turned to see her siblings had come, their concerned looks fading as they peered over the edge. “If we can’t fly, how do we get down there? Can we go down there?”

“The taller King and the Queens may go where they wish, as they wish, but our king stays here.” The four turned and looked at Juddahum, but he did not meet their eyes, instead looking down at the city. “Behind you is a dwelling you may use for shelter, and Khonat will see that food is brought suitable for your kind; it has been long since we had living flesh here, and we are only slowly remembering those essentials. If we do not meet something you need, then tell Khonat.”

“Thank you.” Susan slowly got to her feet, Peter and Edmund’s hands on her elbows and Lucy’s arm around her waist. Juddahum nodded, and turned to leave.

“May I see your dwelling later?” Lucy piped up, and he paused turning the stone monkey head to look over his shoulder.

“Why?”

“I’d like to see what it’s like. Only if you don’t mind.”

Juddahum turned and swept his wings forward in the Telar bow, inclining his head. “If that is your wish.” Lucy smiled at him, arm still around Susan’s waist, and Susan felt that arm suddenly clench as Juddahum let himself fall off the side. A moment later they heard the now-familiar sound of stone wings, and Susan patted the arm reassuringly. 

“Well,” Peter said after a few moments, “let’s go explore our temporary new home.” The Four turned, Peter leading the way once he was sure Susan was steady. Edmund stayed to support her, and Susan, knowing it was best to stretch her legs by walking, followed. She noted Peter’s rumpled tunic, wrinkles creasing it from the stone arms that had held him. The tiny sign that things were not right bothered her. 

But she forgot them a moment later as she walked through the large open space that must be a Telar door, though it towered over her. The outside wall curved, running around the interior to make a circle, and walls divide the circular dwelling into partitions, with a door on either side. They had entered a dining room, Susan guessed, though the table was at a height of her head, and Peter stood examining one of the large chairs. 

“We won’t fit very well,” Lucy commented. What was large for Peter was giant for her.

“Can you even get up, Peter?” Edmund asked curiously, and Peter looked up at the seat higher than his waist.

“I can try.” He grabbed the edge in both hands and hoisted himself up, waist first, leaning forward, and then swinging his legs over. A moment later he began coughing.

“I don’t think they use these anymore!” he called down, and they heard him brushing at the chair with his arm. Wads of dust fell off it, and the other three stepped back. 

“Oh, of course they wouldn’t use a table, they’re stone now,” Lucy said thoughtfully. Peter’s head appeared over the side of the chair. “The tabletop is rather weird; you should come up and see.” Susan winced internally as she thought about climbing the chair’s height, but if they were to get Edmund home, they’d need all the information they could gather. 

But she still let Lucy climb up first, Edmund kneeling to let her step on his leg and Peter grabbing her arms and pulling her up. Edmund offered his hand to Susan next, and she stepped on his leg, reaching her other hand up to Peter.

The pull on her aching muscles, her bruises,  _ hurt. _ She stopped breathing, stopped trying, stopped everything. When she blinked the water from her eyes a few seconds later, she was sitting on the chair, Peter’s hand on her shoulder as he called her name, Lucy close by, and Edmund’s head appearing over the edge.

“What’s wrong, Su?” Peter’s tone was quiet, authoritative, and Lucy’s arm came back around her waist. Susan shoved it off; she couldn’t stand the touch on her bruises right now. But she grabbed the hand she’d just flung away and placed it on her arm, a silent apology, as she gathered breath to answer.

“I’m cramped from the journey here, that’s all. I’ll be fine after some exercise.” She looked up at Peter. He was frowning. 

“You didn’t stretch during the flight?”

“My Telar carriage did not appreciate me moving,” Susan explained softly, and Peter’s hand came up and very gently touched her bruised cheek. 

“Did he do that as well?”

“He didn’t like me trying to get to Lucy, back at Cair Paravel.” She didn’t mention her bruised ribs, though they probably guessed from her moving Lucy’s gentle hand. That touch, that  _ love _ , meant everything after the hard hands of her captor. She would be fine, now that it was just them. “I’ll be alright. I’m much more worried about Edmund.” They looked at him, and he flushed. 

“Before we get into that,” Peter interjected dryly, “I still say we should look at this tabletop.” His hands were under Susan’s arms moments later, lifting her to her feet before she could try it on her own. She smiled her thanks before turning towards the table. 

And blinked.

She walked forward, right to the edge of the chair, putting one arm out to run her fingers across it. From the bottom the table had looked wood, a round top nailed to the top of one leg, but the top looked covered in feathers. Hard feathers, though they  _ looked _ soft, like an Eagle’s primaries, four times the size. They were unmovable, covered in a hard, clear surface, scattered over the table in a random not-pattern, sometimes two or more layered one place, sometimes a bit of wood showing through. “They’re raised,” Edmund realised, his hand running over them beside her, fingers trailing over the lines and quills so easy to feel. “As if the table was built and the feathers added later.” 

“They’re just like Telar feathers,” Lucy added, “only not stone,” she finished quietly. 

“A table a hundred years old, then,” Peter finished quietly. “Probably to eat family dinner on.”

“But they don’t decorate with feathers,” Susan protested, voicing her thought before she realised she was thinking it. “Look at the walls.” She swept a hand at them, illustrating her point. The walls had a window on either side of the door, faded, darkened paintings of old trees, and a single portrait of a Telar on the inside wall. But there weren’t any feathers. “It’d be as odd as us decorating with something like human hair.” Lucy made a face. 

“We don’t know that,” Edmund argued doubtfully. 

“Let’s go explore the rest of the house and we’ll keep an eye out for feather decorations,” Peter decided. He jumped off the chair, turning swiftly to help his sisters down. He tried to help Edmund too, but got a scowl for his trouble.

“I’m a captive, not disabled.”

“Right,” Peter agreed, holding up his hands, but still watching Edmund jump down with a careful eye. “Now, do we go right or left?”

“Right,” Lucy suggested, and Peter headed that way. He opened the door, sticking his head through it cautiously. He walked in a moment later, and the other three followed into what was clearly a sleeping chamber. 

Large logs resembling branches ran from wall to wall in a small obstacle course, and each had several round, level circles sanded into the top.* Dark, dusty curtains hung on every wall, the largest one embroidered with two large Telar silhouettes, and below them three smaller ones. Each figure had a word in an unknown language of their heads, and Susan was the first to notice the connection. 

“It’s a family tree. Two parents, three children, and look, there’s five perches for them to sleep on.” She walked over to examine the white thread, careful not to touch and shower herself with dust. “However did they manage such small stitches with such large hands? These are almost Mouse-like!”**

“Do stop, we can examine the decorations another time,” Edmund broke in impatiently, and Susan quickly rejoined the group going through the next door. He was right, after all. So far nothing seemed helpful in figuring out why the Telar wanted a king. 

Or why their children were still. 

Or why  _ anything _ . 

The next room had a ring of five chairs of various sizes, one small enough for Peter to sit in and almost touch his toes to the floor. “ _ That _ chair was too large,” Edmund muttered, but Susan stood close enough to hear him, and almost laughed out loud, picturing Peter’s hair longer and curly, and his face as that of a disobedient girl invading the home of three bears. The Telar were as big as bears-

Suddenly it wasn’t funny. “Let’s go on, there’s nothing here.” Even the curtains were plain, a repetitive pattern of white oak leaves embroidered over and over. Peter hopped down.

“A room to eat, a room to sleep, a room to talk as a family, that just leaves-” Peter opened the last door, “a room to cook.” 

This room crowded itself with furniture, pots big enough for Lucy to sit in (Susan shuddered), bowls the size of serving dishes, ashes in a stone oven, and there were utensils-

“Oh, leave the knives, it’s not like they’ll do any good against statues.” Susan could hear the frustration in her tone from finding  _ nothing _ to help, and tried to soften it. “Please. They don’t hurt us if we don’t fight, and there’s no use fighting with weapons that won’t hurt them.” 

Peter and Edmund glanced at each other, and set down the knives that reached from their elbows to their fingertips, and led the way back into the dining room they’d come from. The four looked at the enormous chairs and the rest of the room, and as one, they decided to sit and lean against the wall. 

“So what now?” Susan asked Peter, who was to her right.

“Now we get the three of you home,” Edmund demanded from her left. “Look, I don’t know what they need me for, but I still say it was a bad idea to bring all four of us along, Peter.” The tone of a King challenging a King, Susan thought, but she bit her lip. This was something they needed to settle.

“I know that; but if we’d let them take us home, we might never have found you again. Though I did not intend for all four of us to come,” and he looked at the girls, but Susan calmly looked back at him. The boys got in far too much trouble when they were by themselves.  _ They’d just picked up kitchen knives to fight stone statues three times their height. Just.  _ “Anyway, it’s done with. Our problem now is to find out what they want Edmund for. But we should start by figuring out where we are.”

“West of the mountains, and out of Narnia, for starters.” Edmund bit out, then sighed. “Sorry. I just really don’t like this.”

“How reluctant they are to tell us anything,” Lucy agreed. 

“Well, we’ll just have to figure it out on our own then.” The High King looked around the room, heading for the window. “We’ll have to take a look around.”

“And we need to look for more than just what’s going on,” Susan put in quietly. She wasn’t sure how her siblings would take this. “I think we should also consider what we can do to help.” The Kings gave each other a glance, each wearing a slight frown. 

“I agree,” Lucy leaned forward and looked from one to the other. “They’re stone now, and something’s wrong with their children.” Both kings still didn’t say anything. “You know you’d be doing it yourself if you weren’t worried about us. But we can  _ help _ , Peter. Let us.”

“Very well,” Peter sighed. “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same thing. But we need this to be clear, among all four of us. We will help  _ if we can _ ,” Peter commanded. “But Narnia comes first, and Edmund. That’s our first duty as Kings, Queens, and as brother and sisters.” He looked at each sibling in turn, seeing Susan’s quick nod, Edmund’s grave agreement, and Lucy’s understanding. “Then yes, we look for a way to help as well.”

“Then I think Lucy and I should go exploring,” Susan offered. Both boys began shaking their heads, but Susan interrupted. “They don’t mean to hurt the two of us; they don’t  _ want _ us. They do want Edmund for something, so much so they said he  _ can’t _ explore and it’s logical from him to be the one that you guard.” 

Peter gestured towards her bruise. 

“That seems to be only Jumak’s group,” she disputed. “My carrier followed him like new pages follow Oreius. If we get Sirrioth and Juddahum, or perhaps even Khonat, if he can carry one of us with just one wing, we should be fine. Peter,  _ let us help _ .”

“We’ve gone off on our own before, the first battle in Narnia,” Lucy offered, and Peter frowned. 

“You were with Aslan, Lu. We’re all unarmed, helpless, and captive. It’s not wise to split up.” 

“Then we stay close,” Susan compromised. “Not anywhere where we can’t get back on our own.”

“Peter, they really shouldn’t-”

“Oh, do be quiet, everyone, and let me think.”*** Peter got up and began pacing, around the table and chairs, one time, and a second, his siblings watching. At last, he halted.

“You can’t sacrifice their safety on the hope of getting me out of trouble, Peter. You  _ can’t _ .” Without looking Susan put her hand on Edmund’s leg, but he shook it off. 

“It’s a balance of risk against reward, Ed. If they stay in sight of this house, and hide if any Telar appear—I mean it, both of you, we can’t risk them being from Jumak’s unpleasant group—they might find something, and Su pointed out the danger isn’t that great to them.”

“You  _ hope _ ,” Edmund muttered, but he heaved himself to his feet and bowed to Peter. He turned and offered his hand to Susan, and she took his unspoken apology. He helped Lucy up as well, and took both their hands. “Be careful?” he asked both of them seriously. 

“Promise,” and Lucy threw her arms around his waist and squeezed. 

“I promise,” Susan echoed. She smiled at Peter and shooed Lucy out the door, a bit worried they might change their minds if they thought about it longer. 

The street outside—though Susan did not feel it deserved the name, with the lack of railings, lack of warning of the edges, and the sheer height of its wooden stretch—did not hold any Telar. The wooden planks stretched from the dwelling they’d just left to the base of the next tree, perhaps two hundred paces away. Both sisters started forward, though Susan glanced back after a few paces.

“We can always get back,” Lucy pointed out, noticing.

“This seemed like a much better idea inside.”

“It was a good idea, truly. We’ll just go to the next tree, and listen before going around.” Lucy slipped her hand into Susan’s, and together they went to the next tree trunk. 

Susan peered around one side, surprised to see no dwelling. But she ducked her head back a moment later, hiding beneath the trunk larger than three pillars put together. Lucy looked at her curiously, and Susan mouthed “Telar.” The two girls froze, trying to breathe quietly, and listened. 

There was no sound. Not the stomp of wooden feet, the creaking of wood under great weight, the snap of wings, the gravelly voices, or even the sound of breathing.**** Susan carefully ducked her head around again. 

The Telar didn’t move. She straightened—Peter would yell at her for this if he knew—and edged out. Still none of the stone figures turned their heads, or noticed her at all. She edged further—she was halfway out—she was two-thirds—she stood all the way out—and the Telar still hadn’t altered. All five rested their wings on their backs, their heads slightly bent, their eyes on the ground. 

“I wonder if that’s what they meant by being ‘still,’” Lucy whispered, and Susan yelped, whirling and grabbing her sister.

“Lucy!” she gasped, panting, one hand over her heart and the other gripping Lucy’s arm. “Don’t do that!” she added, trying to calm her breathing. She stiffened, glancing back at the Telar, who were still as statue-like as any non-living carved figure. 

“Sorry.” Lucy’s apology was only half-sincere, for her attention was wholly on the statues, and Susan let her go. Lucy reached out with one finger to touch the statues, but drew it back before she reached them. “I think we should get Peter first,” she admitted, biting her lip, and Susan agreed, reaching for Lucy’s hand again and leading her back to the dwelling. 

It did not take long to describe what was happening, and Peter and Edmund both hurried out, Edmund pointing out he’d still be in sight of where he was supposed to stay when Susan began to object, but he was out the door by the time he finished, and Susan knew there was no holding him back. She hurried after him, noting with an inward roll of her eyes that both boys had kitchen knives stuck through their belts under their tunics. Hopefully, the Telar wouldn’t know enough about human clothing to notice. 

They reached the large tree in a matter of moments and walked slowly around it, the boys in the lead. The Kings walked around the statues, examining them from each side without touching them. 

“Do you think they’re sleeping?” Peter asked in an undertone, and Susan shook her head.

“I may have yelled at Lucy, and they didn’t wake.” 

“They’re like the statues in the White Witch’s courtyard,” Edmund’s strained voice pointed out, and Susan looked at his white face, and suddenly she was back there too, Aslan at her side, but all these queer, still, once-living creatures standing there, just—stone. And Edmund had not had Aslan there. 

She moved to comfort him, but his attention had been caught by something farther down the wooden street, just under a large branch, and he hurried over. Susan hurried to catch up, watching his face.

He’d knelt, hands brushing over the pile of stone, and though he was frowning, his face wasn’t as white.  _ He’s found something to occupy himself _ , Susan thought with relief. 

“Look at this,” Edmund said quietly, and the other three leaned over to see the stone he was turning over in his hands. 

“That looks like-” Lucy began in an anxious voice.

“-stone feathers,” Edmund finished grimly. He stood up and placed his hand on the branch over the pile. “And this is sanded, just like a Telar perch.” 

“You think a Telar landed there and-”

“Went statue-still, fell off the perch, and is now a pile of rock,” Edmund agreed with his brother. 

“And he’s not the only one.” Peter’s voice sounded weary, almost  _ old _ . “Look over there.” They looked to a street they could see from this angle, nearly the same height, and saw on it three more piles of crumbling rock. There was a brief silence. “At least now we know what the Telar problem is,” Peter stated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apparently most monkeys sleep sitting up. 
> 
> **No, I do not know for a fact that the Narnian Mice actually sew (though it wouldn’t surprise me), but I can’t help thinking of Beatrix Potter’s Tailor of Gloucester, and “No more twist!” and the tiny stitches that saved his career. 
> 
> ***I’m sorry if this argument was drawn out, I just don’t see someone with common sense letting the group split up (I’m pretty sure that’s how horror movies happen, though I’ve never actually watched one to find out), but I also don’t see the girls sitting around waiting, and Susan makes good points. It was one of those “Susan has to win but I’m not sure how she’s going to, oh look, that’s how” things.
> 
> ****I have no idea if stone Telar need to breathe; I know they did before, and were probably in such a habit they haven’t given it up. 


	6. The Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: squeak squeakers squeak squeakum. That’s “I don’t own Narnia” for those of you who never learned to speak Squirrel from The Emperor’s Groove. Not to be confused with “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” which doesn’t refer to learning languages of any sort, just learning common sense. 

“That’s horrible.” Lucy looked up, noting Susan’s shiver and edging closer to her. The bruise appeared even darker as Susan’s face paled. 

“We need to figure out why this is happening to them,” Peter said in grim agreement. His eyes flickered to Edmund, and Lucy’s followed. “And why they think Edmund being their king can help stop it.” 

“Actually, I don’t think they want Edmund to be  _ their _ king; they didn’t care enough which of you they took. They just keep saying they need a king, as if he had to be a king, crowned, ruling, but not...” The children stood silent as Susan’s fear-filled words sank in, and then Peter shook himself.

“In either case, there’s not much more to be learned here, and we’d better get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Since  _ I’m _ supposed to stay put,” Edmund quipped, accepting Peter’s hand to get up. And back around the large tree, down the tall road, and back into the circular dwelling the four walked. The next few hours passed slowly, in slow stretches (which Lucy started when she noticed Susan’s breathing hitch), quiet conversation, suppressed hunger, and speculation about whether or not they would be found. 

It was then that the Telar arrived with food. Three of the large monkeys carried large wooden trays covered in a selection of unappetizing leaves, a few dead birds with cracked necks, and various kinds of nuts. The humans looked at each other, and then Susan stepped forward and thanked the Telar, taking one of the trays. Edmund quickly relieved her of it, and Lucy stepped forward to take the tray from Sirrioth, smiling up at him as she did so. Juddahum surrendered the third to Peter. 

“I do not remember what Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve eat,” Khonat admitted. “We brought what we remembered eating.”

“It should be enough,” Susan reassured, studying the trays.

“We’ll go outside and clean the birds,” Peter offered, nodding at Edmund.

“I can get you water,” Khonat said, though his stone eyebrows were raised in surprise. 

“That would be lovely, thank you. Could you bring it to the kitchen?” Susan asked with a smile, and Khonat looked at her in confusion.

“Why would the water be in the kitchen if the birds are being cleaned outside?” The Four stared at him for a moment before Lucy began laughing, setting down her tray and bringing her hands up to her mouth to cover the laughter. 

“‘Cleaning’ the birds means taking off their feathers and other inedible things,” Peter explained, though his mouth was twitching. “We’ll use the water to cook, and some of it to clean ourselves afterwards, though.” 

“Ah.” Khonat bowed and turned to go, but Sirrioth put a hand on his arm. 

“It will cost me nothing, and you hours,” he told the one-winged Telar. “I will be back with water,” he added to Lucy, his obvious favorite, and bowed and left. Juddahum stepped toward Lucy after and bowed. 

“Would your Majesty wish to see my dwelling after you have eaten?”

“Oh, yes please,” Lucy answered, her eyes lighting up. 

“Actually, Lucy, it will be dark soon, and you’ll see it better in the light. Why don’t you go while we prepare dinner?” Susan suggested.

“Oh, but the work-”

“Is not more than I can do on my own.” Susan smiled, but it was her polite smile, and her eyes flashed to Edmund and back to Lucy. “Go explore, and learn, and we’ll listen to your stories over supper.” 

Lucy nodded her understanding, and turned to Juddahum with a smile. “Would now be all right?” He bowed, but turned to Khonat in question.

“Perhaps I may offer my services in the kitchen in her place? It would be good to learn to prepare food again,” Khonat offered the elder Queen, and Susan curtsied her acceptance. “Then enjoy the company, and the lessons, Your Majesty, and I will see you at a later time, Juddahum.” The Telar nodded and scooped Lucy in his arms, stepping off the street and falling once again. Peter and Edmund picked up the birds from all three trays and took them outside, glancing a bit uneasily at the extremely long knives beneath their tunics. Susan smiled at Khonat, picking up a tray and heading for the cooking room.

  
  


Lucy’s heart lodged in her throat at the beginning of the fall, but she had done this several times before, and within moments the rushing wind thrilled her as they had before. Juddahum rode the wind around and around the large tree trunk, winding around it like a road down a mountain, and finally landing on a level only a normal tree’s height from the ground. He set her down with a gentleness that was as much skill as kindness. “I live there, Queen of Narnia,” his voice rumbled, and Lucy followed his pointing finger —about as large as her arm—to another circular dwelling, though this one was much larger than the one near the top of the tree. 

“May I go inside?”

“I would welcome the company. It is empty, but for me.” Lucy stepped closer, putting her hand on the large fingers that hung limp, for that sentence was as sad as anything Mr. Tumnus had said, when the White Witch ruled. The large finger turned in hers and the stone hand engulfed her own, though he had to bend down to do so. Together they walked into the home.

The first room was very like the one from before, though the number of chairs around the table were larger, and the paintings bright with color, having been dusted, Lucy thought. They were of places like the homes around the trees, but on the ground, with open roofs, and much, much larger. Crowds of Telar gathered there, perched in the trees around it and on the ground, and three Telar wearing crowns stood in the center. None of the Telar were stone, but of a light brown color, though some had black spots, and some white, and some both. 

“You are so much bigger than us,” Lucy noted, looking again at the chairs far too large for them. Though there were two that were smaller, almost made for a Marshwiggle’s height, and Lucy almost went over to them, but Juddahum noticed her looking and gently pulled her towards the next door. It opened onto a much smaller sleeping area, with only two perches, and Juddahum led her through it quickly. The tapestries hanging on the walls were blank, with no family tree or any other embroidery, but she forgot that the moment they entered the next room. It held comfortable chairs, a few perches along the walls, and shelves and shelves and  _ shelves  _ of instruments in glass cases. Lucy let go of Juddahum’s hand and ran to look in. 

“What are these?”

“They were for my work,” and Lucy turned, for she could hear Juddahum smiling. He looked at the glass cases fondly. “Before we were stone and there was no need for it, I was a healer. I loved my work, and learned from all who would teach me, about the Telar, the birds, the squirrels, even the butterflies, and all I learned helped me. I eventually found favor in the King’s eyes, and he made sure I had all I needed.” 

Lucy looked back at the cases, at one large round disk tied with a string long enough to measure her head to toe. “What was this for?”

  
  


Peter and Edmund cleaned the first birds in silence, Edmund pretending not to notice the glances Peter sent his way. 

“It’s a bit like our first night at the Beavers’, only it’s birds instead of fish,” Edmund put in suddenly. He kept his eyes on the bird in his hands.

“I think I prefer fish.” Edmund could hear Peter’s grimace. “But at least it’s not so cold here as it was on the ice.”

“We’ve got the statues of people but not the winter.” Edmund heard Peter put down the very large knife.

“Are you all right, Ed?”

“Fine,” he answered shortly. But Peter wasn’t having it, and Edmund felt the hand grip his arm, stopping him from continuing to work. Edmund sighed and lifted his other arm to rub his forehead, avoiding touching it with his messy fingers. “I just —I saw that courtyard again, Peter, with the Dwarf and Lion and Giant Rumblebuffin, and all of them were turned to stone. And I jeered at them—did I tell you that? I drew a mustache and spectacles on the lion, and tried to laugh at it, but it looked so sad, it wasn’t any fun. Any fun, when it’d had its life robbed away by  _ her _ . And Peter, what if it had been smashed?” Edmund looked up at his big brother then, at the one who’d never wavered, even if he told Edmund that he felt sick to his stomach sometimes rather than brave, when he did things like face the Wolf. 

“I don’t know, Ed.”

“I don’t know either. And if that’s what they’re facing—Peter, we  _ have _ to do something.”

“We have to take care of Narnia first. We left it rulerless, and that’s wrong. Aslan gave us Narnia, Edmund. He crowned us kings there. And you’re on Aslan’s side this time. You  _ didn’t _ jeer at the statues we found. You didn’t even think of it. You’re not back in her courtyard, you’re here.”

“Cleaning birds instead of fish,” Edmund interjected, but he kept listening.

“We’re here till Aslan sends us home, and He might have sent us here to fix this. I don’t know yet. But it’s no good speculating about what we might or might not do when we haven’t the faintest clue.”

Edmund sighed. Peter had a lot of sense. He always had, and if he hadn’t been the oldest Edmund guessed they still would have listened to him more often than not.

“Thanks,” Edmund said quietly, beginning to pluck feathers again.

  
  


It was a good thing Khonat was here and not Lucy, Susan reflected. The Telar was large enough to move with ease several pots and pans too large for humans, and it would have taken the Queens hours to clear a space. But Khonat saw at once the need for space to prepare the food, and listened with interest —while moving things aside—as Susan explained about boiling or cooking meat while she cracked the shells off of the nuts. None of the leaves were edible, but Khonat sent Sirrioth off for firewood once he’d returned with water, and soon had the kitchen not only clear, but clean, and Susan found him a most practical and helpful partner. When the boys returned with the birds, she showed Khonat how to cook them, though she grimaced a little at how plain they were likely to taste. And she hoped Lucy didn’t stay away too long, because they were all hungry.

  
  


Lucy was exploring on her own, and wishing for both her siblings and dinner. Juddahum had with pleasure explained a great deal of what a healer used to do, and afterwards had taken her through the rest of the house, which included a bigger cooking area, a room with two chairs he had hurried her through, and a room of many chairs he said had once been where the broken or hurt Telar waited, if he was busy. They had gone outside and he’d been about to take her back, up and up the great tree trunk, when another Telar landed and called for him with an urgent tone, saying a Telar had landed wrong and its leg had cracked off. With a swift apology Juddahum had set her down and flown off, promising to return shortly. And Lucy had gone exploring. 

She peered over the side of the street first and saw the forest floor. It was dark, completely shaded by the branches of trees, and completely clear of both bushes and grass; the ground was entirely dirt. And there, in the distance, she could see the building the painting had been of, what must have been the royal dwelling. Perhaps the richest Telar dwelt near the ground, and the highest at the top, where it took work to fly up. She rolled away from the side and looked around the street; it was far wider than the one above, and there weren’t any still statues that she could see. There were other large dwellings, but at a distance, and Lucy, not wanting to stray too far, decided to go around Juddahum’s house. The tree trunk grew out of the center, and the boards of the roof, she noted with curiosity, seemed to grow into the trunk itself, actually connected to them. She wondered how they’d done that. But wait, there was a flash of white up ahead. She took faster steps, turning around the curve of the wall, and nearly ran into another still statue. 

Only this one was a woman. Or a girl, Lucy corrected herself, because it was a bit shorter than a Marshwiggle, much shorter than the other Telar, with smaller eyes, a fuller mouth, and the wings—the wings were more fairylike than feathered, and as beautiful as anything she’d read. The statue held both hands cupped together, and Lucy felt her heart stir with pity, because the statue had been looking at her hands and crying before it became still. A few of the tears were frozen stone on her cheeks. Lucy lifted her hand up, standing on her tiptoes, trying to touch them, to maybe, possibly, wipe them away.

“Don’t touch her!” The voice thundered like an avalanche, and Lucy lost her balance and fell backwards, unyielding hands snatching her back from the statue before she could hit the street. “Do not touch her,” the voice said once more, more quietly, and Lucy looked up to Juddahum.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Whether you meant to or not—” Juddahum paused. “You would have made her crumble.”

Lucy thought of the statues they had seen in pieces, and shuddered. Juddahum felt it, and his hands became gentler, setting Lucy on her feet, but keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her back from the Telar girl. “A single touch destroys the still, especially ones,” his voice caught, “ones close enough to crumbling there is moss on their wings.”

Lucy looked, seeing the green growing on the stone feathers, and aching for this child. “Who is she?”

“She is my daughter,” Juddahum answered, his voice filled with a longing as deep as Lucy had felt for Aslan. 

“Would you like to tell me about her?” Lucy hesitantly asked, knowing that to tell someone of Aslan made it feel like He was close. Juddahum looked at her in surprise, and then back at the statue in front of them.

“She wanted to be a healer. She wanted it like nothing else in the world, and she’d practice, sometimes. She’d find a hurt animal and bring it to me. It was for her I first learned to treat the birds, the squirrels. She learned to care for them, and they’d follow her around. You could hear her coming when the chirps of the birds multiplied, and they’d land on her wings like they were home. She could not stand it when we were not able to save them. She never could. No matter how many times I told her not to, she’d—”

Lucy waited, aching to help the grief that choked his words away. But the Telar did not continue his thought.

“It is time for your dinner,” Juddahum said, collecting himself into a polite and present tone. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.

  
  


The meat cooked well, the nuts were ready, and Susan asked the boys to watch the food while she went (with Khonat) to clean off the table. They could share two plates (the plates were too large for one), and it would have to be with their fingers, but Susan was not going to eat on a dirty table. She walked over to the chair, but trying to climb it stole her breath, her body informing her that such efforts were a terrible idea. Khonat, catching on, gently lifted her to the tabletop and set her down on it. She began wiping it busily, her wet cloth running over the coated feathers, the dust quickly becoming gritty under her hands. Khonat’s large stone fingers came down to touch one she’d just made more visible.

“We were such fools.” 

Susan looked up, her attention caught at the regret, the self-recrimination in his voice. His finger ran over one set of feathers, over and over, and he had been kind. He was unlikely to hurt her, she told herself. He wasn’t like her carrier before. For Edmund, she decided, she had to dare to ask him about something that might make him angry. “We wondered about the feathers,” she began slowly. “They do not seem to be decorations.”

Khonat shook his head. “No, they are not decorations. They are actual feathers, plucked from our wings, laid on lines we drew on the tables and then erased. But the feathers remain. Always.”

“What were they for?”

“Sacrifice.” The fingers of his left hand still traced the ones they’d been touching, going down the length of them over and over, and his right hand reached for another to do the same. 

“Why would you sacrifice your feathers?”

“The generation before mine was given a gift.” Khonat’s wing fluttered, stirring the air in the room, and Susan’s hair brushed against her cheek. “They were told a White Terror roamed this world, and the time might come when we had to fight against her. Narnia was given a tree, won by the obedience of a Son of Adam, to keep her at bay.” Jadis, Susan thought. She had turned them to stone. But Khonat said they were given a gift to  _ stop _ her- “The Telar were given magic.” 

“Magic?” Susan breathed, sitting and tucking her feet under her.

Khonat shrugged. “How do you think I can fly with but one wing?” he asked softly. Her eyes stole to his single wing, then back to his face, creased now with a sad smile. “We were warned, when we were given the gift, to use it only in greatest need. There were rules, warnings; it was a gift not to be used lightly, for it is a magic based on sacrifice, small sacrifices for small needs, great sacrifices for great ones. It was meant to be used  _ only _ as a necessity, when we faced things our brains and hands could not handle.” His wing swept around his shoulder, the tip around his tall waist, and he ran his stone fingers over it. “Like flying with one wing. And we resisted the temptation to use it for anything else—for a generation. That generation remembered the warning, and warned the next in turn, but the younger ones did not listen. As children they found that plucking a single feather from their wings would mold a tree branch into a toy. Why would they not? They no longer had to envy, or go without, or make it themselves. Oh, they learned quickly to hide their feather-bought trinkets from their parents, who scolded and punished and warned, but we were heedless. Magic and desire became rooted together in our hearts, and together they grew strong. As the old died, the need to hide our use of it lessened. Only the very old repeated the warnings, though their words fell on deaf ears. Why would we listen? Magic granted our every desire. Three feathers pulled from my wings in exchange for a new roof for my bride, and suddenly we could marry months sooner. One for a meal of delicacies to impress our neighbors and lords. A handful of feathers to do a lord’s spells for him and he’d grant a high position. A drop of blood to open ears to a new language. It opened up new trade routes, new wealthy, new luxuries! To bleed for three minutes grew a tree from an acorn to the height of a new home in the space of a breath, and why would we wait? We had forgotten the warnings.” He paused. “We had refused to  _ believe _ the warnings.”

“And what happened?” asked Lucy’s voice behind them, the sound of stone wings sounding from outside as her carrier flew away. Khonat bowed to her with his head and one wing, and offered open palms to place her next to her sister. 

“Your pardon, Narnian Queen, I did not see you enter. As for what happened, my people paid the once-spoken price: magic would be our death. It was meant to teach us the value of sacrifice against evil, to grant love the power to save, but it had become how we lived, all we depended on. We rarely worked with our hands. A plague broke out among us, taking first our wings, then breaking our skin in cuts, and finally taking lives. We could find no cause. We turned to magic, trying to use it to heal, and it did nothing. Then our Prince noticed it was those who used magic the most who sickened; those who used it the least had untouched wings. We would not believe him. He called us together, lords, guards, his parents, all the Telar within hearing of his echoing voice. He stood on the ground, doing spell after spell, homes and paths and trees sprouting up around their dwelling, till his wings drooped and fell off, and cuts began opening on his skin, and he finally listened as his father begged him to stop. He stood bleeding, breathing ragged and wings gone, and he looked at us. He looked straight at us, and he asked us if we believed.”

“What happened to him?” Susan asked the question as gently as she could. She heard his aching regret.

“He did no more spells, and his father took him inside. I went to visit him—he was my friend—the next day. He was fevered. He begged me to help him prove what he had already proven. He did not hear me—I tried to tell him that he had succeeded. He did not believe me, and I left, not wanting to make him worse. He did not live for me to see him again.” Khonat’s wing rose from his waist to cover his face, and Susan reached forward, scooting to the edge of the table, and stroked the stone feathers. Minutes passed, and she kept her gentle tracing, hoping he could still feel it, till the wing fell in a Telar bow, and Khonat placed it behind his back.

“But now you are stone?” she asked.

“Only half of those in the courtyard believed we could not solve the problem  _ and _ keep our magic.” Khonat’s wing swept forward to hide his face again. “They believed magic could solve the very problem it created. Jumak had seen the King’s magic while on guard, the strength of it, and believed magic could be strong enough to heal the hurt it started.” Susan thought of what Edmund would say to that. “But our race grew smaller and smaller, and in desperation our king cast a spell of his own.” Khonat’s arms rose, raising the wing higher as he spread his stone fingers, looking at his body, showing it to them. “Stone does not need to eat, nor sleep, nor need a home. Stone cannot die of a plague. He meant, according to Jumak, to wean us off of magic, to take away our need for it and teach us how to live without it. To make his son’s sacrifice the beginning of our salvation. When we had learned, and when there were no more sick, he would turn us back. But he failed. He believed his son. He believed we needed to stop. But even he had forgotten the price. That  _ he _ would pay a price. And he paid it, for he was the first to become still. And it was he who showed us the new prie. When magic can longer take our feathers or our blood, it can still take our lives. We feel it, every time we cast a spell, a bit of our life leeching away, our bodies slowing, our desire for rest growing stronger. In this the King succeeded, I suppose, for we feel the price.”

“So every time you fly…” Susan trailed off, and Khonat smiled grimly.

“Your half-horse, half-man bested me more than he knew, for my life drains away every time I take to the skies. Yet what can I do? A flightless Telar is as dead as a still one.” He shrugged. “It will happen to us all, sooner or later, for there is always the one spell, just the one, that is worth a few days. Zedekah cast one to make us invisible to all eyes before we descended on your home, and now we often shake him awake.”

“And if a child were to heal a bird too many times...” Lucy whispered in horror, and Khonat looked at her, setting a gentle hand on her head. 

“She would give her life for the birds, and become still. It is how we lost all our children. Few of us denied ourselves. Our children grew up seeing us use magic for every pleasure, and we could not by words teach them what we had denied by our actions; we could not teach them a virtue none of us possessed.”

“Then how will you fix this?” Lucy asked desperately. “Can you wake her? Can someone? In our country Aslan turned the stone back into living-”

Khonat’s hand fell away. “We have not seen or heard of the Lion in many lifetimes,” he said quietly. “But there is one who could save us; who could turn us back. Our king. He could by magic undo his spell, and restore all those who have not crumbled. Our race could live once again.”

“And the King won’t wake up? You said you shook Zedekah—could you not do the same to him?” Susan asked, thoughtful. Khonat shook his head.

“Zedekah has not become still yet; he is merely close.”   
“Then why don’t the rest of you reverse his spell?” Khonat snorted, the sound odd from stone nostrils.

“We cannot. Would that we could! We would wake them all, and count our stilling and crumbling as joy, or crawl off without wings if the plague returned as our flesh bodies did. But such power is not given to any Telar but those who rule. It is that family that leads, and they were given magic greater than hundreds of us together.”

“Su, the meat’s boiling!” Edmund stuck his head out of the kitchen door, pausing as he took in the faces. “Ah. I’ll just be going.” He ducked back inside, but Khonat was already reaching for both Queens, gently lifting them to the ground before striding into the kitchen. Susan and Lucy looked at each other.

“We need to keep him here through dinner,” Susan advised Lucy quietly, looking after the Telar. “We still don’t know what they want with Edmund, but now I  _ really _ don’t like it.” 

“No,” Lucy agreed, and Susan looked quickly at the misery in her voice. “And I really don’t like what’s happening to the Telar either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologise for any mistakes in this; I wrote it more quickly than normal, and far too late for anyone to beta. I may have been slightly sidetracked by an unrelated two-page one-shot that became a 22 page story on Friday, and it didn’t leave me any time to write anything else in time for my beta.


	7. An Argument for Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Lewis once had it pointed out to him that the tales of sacrifice for the life of others ran in almost all legends. I am but retelling a tale told often.

The boys had found a use for Khonat in the kitchen. After watching the Kings try to stab the soft meat with very large forks, Khonat had simply stuck his stone hand into the boiling water and grabbed the birds. The two Kings were staring at him, nonplussed, and Lucy and Susan began laughing at the looks on their faces. 

“Should have thought of that,” Peter admonished himself, straightening. “All right, laugh it up, you two. Dinner’s ready. Put the birds on the two plates, if you would, Khonat.” 

The Telar obliged, and Susan swiftly swept a pile of nuts onto each plate as well. In a low voice, she filled in Peter (Edmund listening intently from near the fire while Lucy distracted Khonat by asking him to lift her to the utensils drawer) on all Khonat had said. She finished her summary just in time to see Lucy trying to lift a handful of enormous forks.

“Bring the things that look like toothpicks, Lucy,” Susan called, halting Lucy’s struggling. “We’ll use them like single forks. Through here, Edmund, Peter.” She opened the door, and the boys brought the plates through, holding them high above their crowns like platters. The others followed Khonat put the plates on the table for the Four and lifted each one of them onto its surface. Peter gave Susan his hand to help her sit down, mindful of her still-aching body, only to see her quickly turn towards the door, where Khonat was leaving. 

“Surely you will stay and eat with us?” she asked. 

“It would be our pleasure to have your company,” Edmund added quickly, picking up on her cues.

“Stone cannot eat.”

“But you can stay and talk with us,” Lucy responded. “There is so much we have to learn about you.” 

Khonat hesitated.

“We are here as strangers, and children. Your guidance would be much appreciated,” Peter put in gravely. He was not quite sure what his sister intended, but he trusted her judgement. Khonat bowed and took a seat. 

Peter and Susan shared a plate while Edmund and Lucy shared the other. Susan glanced at Edmund, not sure where to begin. Edmund saved her the trouble by beginning with a question of his own.   
“How can your people be helped, Khonat?”

Peter paused in lifting a portion of the bland cooked meat, listening. There was much that was wrong here, and he longed to put it right. He could see his siblings felt the same. But the high-handed, almost desperate actions of the Telar made him wary. Desperate people seldom made good choices. And the horror they felt on learning of the Narnian rulers’ ages made Peter distinctly uneasy.

Khonat looked at Edmund and sighed. “It is not wise of you to offer your help when you do not know what we would ask of you.”

Edmund smiled, a little grimly. “I did not offer my help. My fair sister has told me what your people face, and I am curious to learn how they intend to save themselves.”

The Telar said nothing. 

“Why can’t you tell us?” Susan gently prodded. “You told us the hurts of your past, your friend, the heedlessness of your race —what can be left that you do not want to say?”

“It is easier to speak of past sins than future ones.” Khonoat looked down at his hands. “We need a king.”

“Tell us  _ why _ ,” Peter commanded. He was done with the avoidance of this race!

“Our king is still.”

“But no one here treats me as a ruler, but a captive,” Edmund frowned. “You cannot mean to make me your king in his place.”

“No, we do not.” Khonat stared at Edmund, measuring him, as if to test his courage. Edmund looked back calmly, as calmly as he’d looked at the witch after seeing the power of Aslan. The Telar half-smiled, but it curled into pain in the corners. “You remind me of my prince. I was his  _ jedeha _ —the old word for guard. But to be  _ jedeha _ is more than that. It is what Jumak was to the king. It is one-who-gives-his-life. We have no other meaning, no other purpose. We live at his side, we counsel him in worry, calm him in rage, and bear as many of his burdens as we can. We give our life for his, if he is threatened.” Khonat shook his head. “Our old king had little of rage in him, and perhaps Jumak felt it instead. I am sorry for the hurting of your face,” he said to Susan, and Peter’s eyes flicked to her. She was calm, but there had been lines of pain on her forehead since the morning. “The moment we found out you could be the king’s salvation, Jumak decided it was the king’s life or yours, and therefore you were enemies.” The feathers on Khonat’s wing ruffled. “He is a fool, and a better  _ jedeha _ should have been chosen, all those years ago.” Khonat’s eyes turned back to Edmund, who had reached out to cover Susan’s hand with his own. “And I am sorrier still you are like my prince, for I know what it is to lose such a one.”

“What do your people intend to do to me?”

“Ours is a magic based on sacrifice. There is one sin, one of few, that my race did  _ not _ fall into in the old days. We did not force the sacrifice from another. Dark would that have made us, if we had! I know not what grace kept us from it, but we had our laws. If another forced someone into submission and took from him unwillingly, the spell-caster was killed. We have made few exceptions—a drop of your blood while you were in our power helped you to speak our tongue, and we did not ask first. Yet we saw the fear grow on your faces, and heard your tones—so high, it was the fear of  _ children _ , and it cut me to the heart—when we took that first drop.”

“That is forgiven,” Peter said gravely. “It was taken in good faith, with no intent to harm, and to help us understand—to end our fear.”

“Yes.” Khonat looked at his hands. “It was. And so I could live with that act on my hands, my wings. But I came to care for you with food and with stone strength, but also to force myself to acknowledge what we are doing. Many of those left do not. They stay on the ground, in the King’s court, digging deep the lines of the spell around him, so they may not face what they are doing. That they are committing the last crime of magic we have never, as a race, committed. But I could not see the lines and not force myself to face—this.” He looked back at Edmund. “To face you. We need our king, and we need him to live. A king for a king; a life for a life. Tomorrow they fly you to the courtyard of our King, release your crown from your head, and touch it to his. Your life will be given to him. That is Zedekah’s plan.”

“You are going to what?” Peter did not mean for his voice to rise till it thundered, but it had, and he stood. 

“Peter.”

“That is murder.” 

“And if a murder is the price to save our race, most of us agree to it.”

“Most of us?” Susan asked, hope and caution warring in her tone, but Peter wasn’t done.

“You have the stomach to do that? To look at him now, and take his life tomorrow?”

_ “Peter.” _

Khonat looked at Edmund, at the boy whose eyes were fixed on his older brother, and back at Peter. He spread his hands wide. “I do not. But Zedekah is as ruthless as he is selfless. His will be the words that take the life from this one for another. As the one who brought peace between my group and Jumak’s, the only one with a plan to save us, it is his right-”

“It is no one’s _ right _ .” 

_ “Peter!” _ Peter paused, finally looking at Edmund. His brother was waiting for him to start listening, telling him without words there had to be a conversation between them about this. 

Edmund did not deserve his anger. And Peter could listen. For now. He looked back to Khonat. “Excuse us.” 

The Telar looked from one King to the other, then at each Queen. He rose, bowing a different bow—bending till his back was parallel to the ground, his wing dragging on the floor, his hands meeting before his bowed head. 

“I leave you to your meal.” He straightened, looking at each once more, lingering on Edmund. “I am sorry.” He left, and they let him, the wind blowing through the open door after he vanished.

Peter looked back at Edmund. “We need to get you out of here. ”

Edmund smiled ruefully. Peter did not particularly care for that smile. “Can we talk for a minute first?”

“A minute,” Peter granted curtly. 

Edmund took a deep breath. “Has anyone stopped and considered that this might actually be a good option?”*

“No,” said Peter flatly.

“No, Edmund, it isn’t,” objected Susan when Edmund looked about to argue. “You can’t just go and offer them your life. It isn’t...it isn’t right.”

“But that’s just it, Su. It might be. I mean, look at the situation. It’s not just my life for another king’s, it’s one person for an entire race. A dying race. One life for many.”

“But you  _ can’t _ , Edmund.”

“You can’t,” Peter echoed his sister, his voice stern. “Aslan died to make you a King of Narnia, remember?** You cannot take the life He saved and offer it up.”

“Like He did for me?” The others paused. “Don’t you see that’s why I’m thinking about it? If I did, it would fit—fit the whole pattern of what He did for me. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Act like Him?”

“But not for  _ them _ !” Susan burst out.

“You are a King of  _ Narnia _ , not of the Telar. A King can be required to die for his people, but when he dies for them, he is offering up what they already own. Narnia owns your life, Edmund, and you cannot give it away as if you were a soldier. Besides, can’t you see it’s unjust? What if you heard of the Telar taking another person—one of us, then—against our will and taking our lives. How would you judge their actions then? Innocent or guilty?”

“Yes, all right, all right. But it’s not the same, if I  _ offer _ my life! If I surrender it—but I’m just discussing,” Edmund back tracked as Lucy bit her lip, Susan paled, and Peter took a furious step forward. He held up his hands. “Just—just talking. Can’t you see, Peter, Susan, Lucy—can’t you see how it might be a good thing? To follow Aslan this way, to do for them what He did for me.”

“But why for them?” Susan’s voice was shaking, and she brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “They’re a corrupt race dying of their own corruption. Why should you save them?”

“Because Aslan saved me when I was.” Peter and Susan went quiet, furiously thinking, and in the silence Lucy spoke.

“But Aslan did more than that.” She looked back at Edmund, eyes opening wide as she realised. “He didn’t just save your life. He made you better. Can you do that, Edmund? Yes, I could see one person giving himself up for a race. Or even one person for another, like Aslan did. But none of them—or few of them—are actually sorry they used magic. They still do. They still become  _ still _ . They used magic to attack us, and now they’re digging lines for  _ more  _ magic. They’re not giving it up.”

“Before you heal someone, ask him if he’s willing to give up the things that made him sick,” Susan quoted the oldest healer at Cair Paravel, Hippocrates.*** “They aren’t willing to give up magic. You won’t really be helping them.” 

Edmund looked around at the three, and his shoulders sagged. “What other options do they have, though?” he tried.

“They could have called on the Lion,” Peter reminded them, and Lucy nodded. “But they chose their own strength and the need to save themselves instead.”

“It’s not an easy thing to trust Aslan, but it’s become a choice between that and murder,” Susan pointed out. “You can’t help them with murder, Edmund.”

“Because a trust in Aslan would have trusted even if the entire race died,” Lucy reminded them all, thinking. “Trust in Aslan goes beyond death.” 

Edmund smiled at them all—a rueful smile Peter rather approved of this time. “Then at least if I do die, you will still trust Him?” The other three scowled at him and he held up his hands. “I surrender!”

“We follow where He leads,” Peter agreed. “But that path does not lead you to  _ willingly _ become a lifeless body for an unrepentant people. Give me your word, Edmund, as a knight and a king, that you will fight for your life.” 

Edmund looked up at Peter, reading the command as well as the request. The younger King rolled into a kneeling position, hands braced on his knee since he lacked a sword.

“I swear by my love of Aslan and the life that He gave me that I will not surrender willingly; that is, unless the Lion Himself tells me to.”

“I hold you to that oath, and swear in return to protect you with all that I am and to strive to bring the Four of us home.” 

“Which means we’d better find another way out,” Susan said after a short pause. “But I don’t like our chances, because we haven’t a way to the ground.”

“Could we at least hide?” Lucy asked. “There’s so many empty places—we might stay hidden for days! At least till we find a way to the ground, and maybe back to Narnia.”

“Ed and I looked while we cleaned the birds, there’s not a way down for us, not without monkey tails to swing by. And if we have to stay on this level we wouldn’t stay hidden for long. Not with 50 of them searching.”

“Can we make the tapestries a rope and lower ourselves down?”

“They’re threadbare and wouldn’t hold us,” Susan interjected. “And while magic might have made very small stitches, it didn’t make very strong thread. I don’t think we can trust our lives to them.” She waited, but no one said anything, and she sighed. “I don’t like this plan, but it might be the best we have. Lucy and I tomorrow will ask to go exploring again, and either find the lines for the spell they made and erase them, or make our way back to Narnia as we can, and get help. 

“You’d never arrive back in time,” Peter objected, frowning, and Susan nodded.

“I know. But it’s the best I’ve got. They won’t take us exploring in the dark, it’d be nonsense to ask.”

“Peter should go with you,” Edmund interjected.

“Peter will do no such thing,” the High King shot back. 

“They’ll need protection.”

“So do you.”

“Peter-”

“I will not forswear my oath, Edmund. Forget it.”

At this point Susan and Lucy had tuned them out, looking at each other. 

“Pray to Aslan we make it in time?” Lucy asked, and Susan nodded. The two girls held hands and bent their heads, asking for help. By the time they finished, the boys had observed them and were asking for Aslan’s help as well. Then the Kings helped the Queens down, and the four of them pulled down some of the dusty, threadbare tapestries in the other rooms and made what beds they could.

Khonat stood shuddering outside the still-open outer door. He had heard all their conversation, though by the time they were discussing escape he’d stopped listening. For this younger King—he was far too much like Khonat’s prince. And like Khonat’s prince, he would spend his life to teach the Telar a lesson they would only half-learn. 

No. No, Khonat could _ not _ allow that. If the Telar could only live half-lives through the murdering of kings and princes like that—no.**** 

He closed his eyes. He needed a moment, a heart-killing moment, to bear the sadness of the death of his kind. To adjust to the weight of that idea, without seeing the last remnants all around him.

He opened them. He looked to the stars, reading the direction, and readied his magic to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am blaming this entire debate entirely on WillowDryad, as that lovely writer advised me to listen to how Edmund wanted the story to go when I got stuck. He and I got into an argument, and it ended up playing itself out in the story. I’d also like to thank SouthwestExpat, who helped me actually beat Edmund, because for a while there I was stumped as to how I was going to stop Edmund from walking up in the courtyard and offering his head. Those of you who like Edmund fighting to survive, thank her, because I was losing. 
> 
> **For anyone who is reading who wishes to debate whether or not Edmund knew of Aslan’s sacrifice for him, my opinion, book quotations, and help from other authors was hashed out in “What Would Have Happened” and you’re welcome to discuss it over there, please. 
> 
> ***This was actually said by the human Hippocrates, but shhhh! I’m pretending!
> 
> ****Inspired by NausicaA: of the Valley of the Wind, where Obaba says (paraphrasing, because it’s from memory) “We know it is wrong for us to survive, if we have to depend on a monster like that.”


	8. The Difficulties of Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Considering I spent three days avoiding writing the beginning of this because I had no idea how to get from the last chapter to the beginning of this one, and then a few more because I’m still not skilled at writing angst, I’m going to say it’s not my story but rather a plot that holds me captive and engages in the practice of forced labor. 

The Four woke in the dim light of false dawn and folded their tapestries-blankets, putting them on the empty perches the Telar used as beds. With nothing to make for breakfast and a growing feeling of being imprisoned, they agreed without words to go outside, Peter closing the door behind them. He led the way to sit on the edge of the street, legs swinging, and together they watched the sky grow lighter and brighter as they waited for breakfast, or a ride, or both. 

No one came. When the sun had fully risen, Susan got to her feet and looked at the others. “Lucy and I should leave now,” she said quietly. “We don’t know how much time we have.”

“Where will you go?” Peter asked.

“Along the road, as far as we can, to see if it leads either down, or to a Telar willing to fly us.” Peter got to his feet as well. 

“Be wary of who you ask,” he advised. He pulled Susan into a hug, then Lucy. “Take care of each other.” Susan smiled back, trying to be brave —how she wished she had Lucy’s courage!—and turned to Edmund.

“Take care,” she said as she reached for him, holding him as long as he’d let her. 

“I’ll be all right, Su.” He broke out of the hug, but hesitated. “Take care?” She nodded, and stepped back for Lucy. Edmund smiled down at her head. 

“The blessings of the Lion on thee and thy quest,” he said suddenly, squeezing Lucy one more time before letting her go. She looked up at him with a brave smile but blinking eyes. 

“And may the Lion guard thee and  _ bring you home _ ,” she responded fiercely. “The Telar won’t ask Him for help but I will.”

“We’re all in His paws,” Peter added, coming up and circling all three of them in one last hug. They stayed that way, the sun rising, the green trees, the air beneath them, each asking for a moment that this would not be the last time they were four. Each taking a moment to remember Aslan’s name and the joy it brought. Then they straightened, crowns shining in the sun, and Susan took Lucy’s hand, nodded once more to both their brothers, and began walking away. 

* * *

The boys watched their sisters till they were out of sight. 

“How early do you think the Telar will come?” Edmund asked, sitting down once more. Peter shrugged, staying standing. Edmund recognised the stance, the feet firm and body braced. “Peter, you can’t fight them. It’d be you against an army.”

“Aslan has won with less.” Edmund sighed. “I have to try, Ed. That’s one of the places where His Kings stand or fall. To do the right thing, at all times and in all places, is what being His King means.”

“I’m  _ aware _ ,” Edmund grumbled, agreeing with the concept but not its current implementation, and Peter glanced down and offered the shadow of a smile. “Oh, come off your high horse.”

“I’m not the only one up on one. I remember Narnia’s younger king fighting a witch both twice his size and much better with a sword.” Edmund ducked his head. “I know you’re aware of what it means to be a King. Just let me be a King too.”

“That’s more the role of a knight,” Edmund argued back, just to be contrary. Peter didn’t say anything. How disappointing. “You’re not going to argue with me?” 

“I don’t feel like it.”

No, Peter wouldn’t. Edmund looked back out at the trees. He wouldn’t feel like arguing with Peter, either, if it might be Peter’s last day. 

Actually, it might  _ be _ Peter’s last day. If Peter damaged enough Telar to anger them, especially Jumak’s followers, they might forget their selective mercy. Edmund glanced over at his brother. He didn’t have the knife anymore, neither of them did. After seeing Khonat in the kitchen, they’d both realised knives would do no good, however hard they thrust, and they would not have been comfortable to sleep with. Peter had nothing else to damage Telar with, which Edmund found ironically reassuring. 

Edmund was distracting himself, and he knew it. Narnia tried to execute the remnants of the Witch’s army as quickly as they could, and Edmund appreciated that mercy as never before. The longer the Telar waited to kill him, the better his chances, he knew, but so much of him just wanted them to hurry up.

“The waiting’s the hardest,” Peter commented, and Edmund looked up in surprise, finding Peter’s eyes fixed on him. Peter sighed, sitting next to his brother. “My worst nights in Narnia were all the nights I had to wait, dreading the dawn. Waiting for the battle I would be fighting without Aslan, wondering if I’d ever be enough. Waiting brings up all the questions.” He bumped Edmund with his shoulder. “Or waiting to see if the other Narnians were able to rescue you from the Witch,” he added quietly. “Try not to think about it.”

“Then give me something else to think about,” Edmund shot back, grateful for the advice but irked that he couldn’t follow it on his own.

Peter looked down the road. “What do you think the girls are up to?”

* * *

The girls walked down the length of the road which wound around six gigantic trees before ending abruptly at a seventh. Both Queens halted, Susan brushing her hair behind her shoulder. 

“Do you suppose we should go the other way?” asked Lucy. 

“It’s the only thing we can do. I just wish it didn’t take so much time—

“Wait, maybe it isn’t.” Lucy walked closer to the end of the road, peering between the boards. The rest of the road had them placed so closely together not even the sunlight from below came through, but the Telar gave up that artistry at the end of the road, and Lucy caught a glimpse of something lighter than bark. “Susan, look at this.” Her older sister knelt beside her, and looked. 

“It’s supports for the road, nailed to the tree on one end, and angled to meet the road—”

“And look, they’ve got small boards nailed all around the support beams! Handholds, and we could step on them!” Lucy scrambled for the edge, eager for anything that took them lower. Susan grabbed at her a moment too late, not wanting her so close to the edge, but Lucy never noticed, too excited as she found boards running up the trunk to the road. She swung herself off a moment later, testing the nailed boards with both hands still clutching the street. 

“Lucy!” 

“It holds!” Lucy called back, too absorbed to hear the sharp tone. Susan’s white face peered over a moment later. “I’m going down!” She climbed easily down and then under the street, fingers digging into crevices in the rough bark behind the thick wood squares. She only stopped when the nailed boards ran out. “Are you coming?” she called to her sister. 

“Yes…,” and Lucy frowned, because that tone wasn’t at all happy, but she saw one of Susan’s legs swing over the side and feel around for a board, albeit very, very slowly. Once Susan had her hands off the street, Lucy began looking about her. 

The branches had all been cleared from the trunks above the road and directly around the supports, but underneath it, still far above the next level, the branches were plentiful, and Lucy reached for the nearest one. It was almost too large for her to wrap her hand around, one fingertip barely touching her thumb, but it didn’t even creak when she tugged on it. She found a much smaller one underneath it, within reach of her feet, and she swung herself over, holding most of her weight from her arm as she heard the branch beneath her groan.

“You do get yourself into the strangest scrapes. Be careful, Lu.” The breathless words made Lucy look back to see Susan, clinging to her handholds with white, clenched fingers. 

“It’s alright,” Lucy spoke without thinking. Susan glanced down and froze, panting with fear, but looked back up again as her younger sister spoke. “We’re in Aslan’s paws.” 

It is, of course, the height of irony that the branch beneath Lucy’s feet breaks just as she reaches to reassure her sister. Lucy screams, falling, but so different than the other times, no stone arms beneath her as she plumments. Susan’s scream echoes her own. 

* * *

The boys hear the screams and leap to their feet, looking wildly down the road. They run. 

* * *

Sirrioth, who had been bringing their breakfast, heard as well, and he flies faster than the feet of Adam’s race. He had been a carekeeper of the young before they were still, and knew how to catch the ones who couldn’t fly. He dived for Lucy, Susan’s eyes going wide as she saw him go headfirst toward her sister, arms stretching out when he got close. Lucy’s eyes were wide when she saw him and she reached back, for the stone arms of safety, and she curled into him when he caught her. She stopped, panting, listening to the steady beats of his wings, thanking Aslan she had not died. She caught her breath and looked up at him.

“You should not leave the road if you don’t have wings,” he admonished. 

“My sister is still up there. Please,” Lucy cleared her throat, trying again, “please, can you fly to her?” She  _ wanted _ her sister, and Peter, and Edmund. Sirrioth looked up, at Susan clinging small against the tree trunk, and with a push of both wings he thrust them upward. 

* * *

The boys had circled one trunk and were reaching the next when the Telar dropped down on all sides, surrounding them on the road. Zedekah, stone eyes blinking slowly, stood between them and their sisters.

“You were not to leave the dwelling,” he told Edmund.

“Move!” Edmund and Peter both stepped forward, ready to push him out of the way, but Zedekah held up one hand.

“Your sister is safe.” Another blink as he woke himself. Peter and Edmund glanced at each other, not ready to take his word for it. “She fell from the branches beneath the road, but Sirrioth has caught her.” The Telar leader took a step towards the two Kings. “Now it is time.” 

* * *

Sirrioth shifted Lucy to sit on one shoulder and caught Susan gently around the waist with the other arm. This gave her room to reach over and grab Lucy’s wrist in both hands, face pale as she listened to Lucy’s reassurances. He looked from one girl to the other. “What are you doing beneath the road?”

“We were trying to get to the ground,” Lucy said breathlessly. She watched as his face wrinkled with sadness. 

“It might be better for you to see the good than stay here and see the—other,” he muttered.

“The other?” Susan asked sharply, still clinging to Lucy’s wrist but turning her head to look at him. He shook his head. 

“It is not for children to know. I will take you where you are safe, and where you can see the good,” he answered, and his dive cut off Susan’s words. He flew down, down, and further down, the light becoming scarcer, quieter as they reached the ground. The huge trunks loomed in larger circles than the buildings above, and their branches were thicker than Susan’s waist. The streets grew more numerous, but he dodged them all, at last setting the Queens down on the ground itself on a large paved circle surrounded by broken walls. Across the circle was a square of stones, crumbling on one end, and many places in the circle had broken pavers littering the ground.

Susan, having gotten her breath back, opened her mouth to demand answers. Sirrioth spoke before she could. “Stay here. Jumak does not understand you are young—you are  _ children _ —but he is elsewhere, with your brothers, I think, for that is happening now. You should be safe here. Wait for the Telar to come, that you may witness the life that comes. I must check the drawing from above.”

Lucy seized Susan’s other hand, waiting till he had jumped into the sky to whisper, “The  _ drawing _ . Khonat said they were digging lines for it. It might be here, we might be able to delay them-”

“By filling in their drawing,” Susan agreed in a whisper of her own. “I think it might be the only thing we have time for now.”

* * *

“No.” Peter took a step in front of Edmund, standing between Zedekah and his brother. “You cannot have him.”

“We must.” Edmund glanced around as the circle of gigantic monkeys moved inwards. There were twelve Telar, in addition to Zedekah. Two would have been enough. Perhaps even one. This was a losing battle. 

And Peter was fighting it anyway. “Then take  _ another _ king. There are other kings, kings who do not deserve their titles, who have taken their thrones by blood and greed. You had a hundred years to use Janis as a sacrifice,  _ take another king! _ ”

Zedekah paused; Edmund could hear his footsteps stop. Silence followed as the other Telar followed his lead. “To sacrifice an evil king is to gain an evil king,” Zedekah said at last. “We could not take a Queen for a King; and if we had taken the White Terror, we would have gained only a Terror to rule us. We need a king. The greater the king, the greater the sacrifice. We need Aslan’s king.”

“To sacrifice a good king is to become a terror yourself. If you would have Aslan’s king, then follow Aslan’s rules!” Peter’s voice still held that command, but Edmund knew him. He could hear the pleading beneath it. If Peter did not win by words, he would not win at all. And Peter knew it. 

“Aslan has not saved us, and we must save ourselves. We do this so our king may be Aslan’s, and he can sentence us as he will.” Edmund heard another heavy step, heard it echoed in the Telar all around him, and turned till he stood against Peter’s back, facing out. But it was useless as Zedekah commanded, “Take him.” He ducked under a stone arm, choosing a moment later to step away from Peter, to draw them away from him, twisted to avoid another hand, drawing himself back, only to lose his balance as a wing clipped his shoulder. He dropped onto the smooth wood and rolled. He came back to his feet with a heavy breath. He took another instant step back, he had to get away—and he stepped on empty air. He began to fall, only for stone fingers to close around both arms. Three Telar held him, drawing him back in, and suddenly he was aware of Peter’s shouting his name. He looked around, panting, and the Telar parted for Zedekah to come near. To the side was Peter, held by two Telar, his frantic eyes looking at Edmund. 

“Zedekah, if you need a king, then I am one!” 

_ Oh no.  _ “Peter, don’t you  _ dare _ -”

“I’m the eldest. The three are my responsibility. If you must take a life, take mine!” The stone leader looked over to Peter, and Edmund saw the compassion on his face, the compassion that made what he was doing so much worse. But Edmund cared less about that than Peter’s offer.

“You said we didn’t get to die for another race when Aslan gave us Narnia!” he reminded his brother. He wished Peter would look at him, would see that of all outcomes, this was not one Edmund could stand. Aslan had already died for him;  _ not Peter, Peter couldn’t die for him too _ .

“I’m not dying for another race, I’m dying for my brother, and that  _ is _ a charge Aslan gave me,” Peter hissed, his eyes still on Zedekah. 

“You are not dying.” Zedekah turned, walking to the High King, and despite the Telar’s words Edmund tensed. But Zedekah only placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders, gentle, facing the wrath blazing at him from the eyes of Edmund’s brother. “I know what it is to be the leader. I saw my people tearing themselves apart. I saw their need. You have seen it too, in Narnia, for I see your heart has been given to it, as mine has to the Telar. I made myself into what they needed, as you have made yourself into a king. But there is this difference between us, that you are still a child. I am not. I have lived longer than the White Terror ruled. I have seen the rise and fall of nations. Narnia will need your heart, King. I can see it. It is the older who rules better. And because I am old and you are a child, I have made the choice for you. We harm only what we must, and it will do Narnia less harm to take the younger King. You will live, older King of Narnia, and in our King you will see your brother reborn, and so Narnia and the Telar will be friends. I will offer you my head when it is finished. I give you my word, when my kind rises on the wings of flesh once again, I will submit to your justice peacefully, knowing I have done what I must.”

“ _ No _ ,” Peter choked. “I did not make myself King, Aslan did; I rule by His appointment, and so does Edmund. Zedekah, don’t touch what is His-”

The Telar turned away, cutting him off, and one of the Telar who held him covered the High King’s mouth. Zedekah walked to Edmund. Edmund stared up, looking at the tired face of the one who would kill him, and swallowed. There was nothing he could do, no way to keep his oath. Peter could not rescue him. Only Aslan could save him now.

* * *

Far below, Susan bent down and scooped up some of the loose pavers, handing some to Lucy. “Let’s see if we can fill the drawing with these, when we find it.” Lucy took them from her and the two began walking. With no direction to follow, they headed for one of the scattered piles of paving stones. Picking their way carefully between them, Susan at first did not notice the hazard in front of her, but Lucy’s horrified whisper of “Susan,” made her look at her sister, then down where her sister was gazing. 

The pavers had been torn up in a line as wide as her hand, freshly dug, for she could still smell the earth. It reached deeper than her waist, dug into the earth by hands trying not to think about what they were doing. It was the drawing the Telar needed for their spell, the lines on the table cut far deeper into the earth, and, looking left and right, Susan realised the lines ran in all directions, a complicated drawing of intersections and slants and broad strokes. It overwhelmed her. “There’s no way we can fill it,” she whispered in sudden pain, the stones in her hands suddenly tiny. Such things were far too small to save her brother.

“We can try!” Lucy dropped her stones in the trench, falling to her knees and reaching out to push the trampled dirt and lose stones into the ditch. Susan followed a moment later, knowing as she did she was doing this because she  _ must _ . She had to do something; but Lucy’s face held the fierce determination of someone who clung to faith. Susan had none. She did this because she must do something, but they couldn’t fill even one line fully with the dirt and stones around them—and Sirrioth said the sacrifice was happening now. 

* * *

Only slightly above them, Jumak watched their efforts with an unpleasant smirk. They were as squirrels trying to stop the felling of a tree. Unless they filled the whole of the line, it would not matter. They could not do that in the moments they had left. But he would stay and watch their pathetic efforts, making sure nothing went wrong. Zedekah had ordered him to the taking of the sacrifice. But pah! Why listen? His place was here, watching over the place of his king.

* * *

Edmund stayed as calm as he could. He would face death as a knight, as Aslan’s king. Zedekah placed both hands on Edmund’s crown, his thumbs circling the front and his fingers the back, and he began to speak. 

“A sacrifice is made. A life for a life, for the defense of the Telar. A king for a king, for the defense of the Telar. A life for a life, for the defense of the Telar. A king for a king, for…” Zedekah’s low voice started it, but around Edmund the Telar joined in, the chant building in volume, and Edmund could feel his crown beginning to heat. His blood rushed to his head, hot under the crown. His feet grew rapidly numb, then his legs. He could no longer stand, but the hands that had been holding him still now held him up. The numbness took his knees, rushing up his body as the crown grew hotter, and he realised that his life itself was being transferred to the crown. If they took it from his head and put it on the Telar King’s—a life for a life, transferred through a crown.

* * *

“There’s no more stones!” Lucy’s voice sounded—it sounded like when she’d seen Aslan’s face, muzzled and cold and dead, and Susan couldn’t stand it, not in her younger sister.

“We’ll go get some more!” She scrambled to her feet, heading for the largest pile of them, the square pile, while Lucy moved further down the line they were filling. She grabbed an armful of stones, bruising her fingers, running back and dumping them in. They filled one tiny portion halfway, but Lucy noticed, and ran to join her, and the two went back and forth, back and forth, panting, trying to fill the line, to stop the spell. With longer legs Susan was faster, and she reached the trench, filled it, and was back while Lucy still filled her arms. Susan checked Lucy’s face, quickly, just a moment, but in that moment she tripped on a stone and fell face first. 

“Susan! Susan?”

“I’m fine, just keep going!” Susan panted. She pushed herself up, watching as Lucy took off. But the pause gave her a moment to think, to remember that Sirrioth had said he was checking the image they were trying to fill. She scanned the skies, trying to spot stone in the low light. If the two girls were caught, what would happen?

But there were no Telar in the sky, nor in the courtyard, except, wait, one just there. He’d hidden behind the pile, invisible to anyone who wasn’t a few feet away.

A stone wing rested on a back, and Susan scrambled to her feet. She paused, wanting to flee, knowing she couldn’t, remembering Edmund—and walked around the pile to see a Telar, still, both wings on his back, his head bent and looking at the ground. But his face was different. His face, even in stone, remained furrowed in grief, and stone tears were cemented to his cheeks, and smooth stone circle weighed down his head. Susan knew that look, the look of the oppressed, the failures. The look of a spirit breaking under evil, and the Gentle Queen lifted her hand to brush the tear away. 

There was no Juddahum to stop her, as there had been for Lucy, and the moment Susan’s hand touched the cheek, the face cracked. Horrified, Susan backed up. The cracks spread from the face to the shoulders, the wings, the stomach, she couldn’t look away—the cracks reached the feet and the statue crumbled, all the pieces falling at once. The sad, tired face suddenly (Susan might have imagined it) smiled before hitting the ground and becoming pebbles. 

* * *

All through the forest, the Telar felt the death of their King. Zedekah jerked back, the Telar around him falling to their knees with a cry, the hands on Edmund’s arms releasing him. He fell face forward, the life from his crown rushing back into him with a dizzying rush. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, he could only  _ feel _ . Alive, that pounding of his heart, that rush of blood into his feet, his fingers, the  _ tingling _ .

There were suddenly hands on his shoulders, small hands, warm, flesh hands, and he couldn’t hear over the blood in his ears but he’d give anything in a bet, so sure was he it was Peter, who was probably calling his name. The hands felt his neck, slid up to feel his crown, back down to his shoulders, and Peter was rolling him over. Peter’s face was right above him, mouth moving, and yes, it was definitely Peter, and Edmund laughed. He couldn't help it, he felt so  _ alive _ . Peter’s face jerked back, confused, and it was so funny Edmund laughed again. The blood in his ears was subsiding.

“I’m all right, Peter, I’m all right,” he gasped around his laughter, and Peter’s eyes narrowed before jerking Edmund up into a tight, smothering hug. It was less than a moment, a split second of sensation, of being  _ safe _ , because love was the safest thing Edmund knew, defeating the cruel and cold, even within himself. 

Then Peter was on his feet, pulling Edmund up as well and glaring at Zedekah, though the Telar, bent over and trembling from whatever had hurt the other Telar as well, did not notice the Kings. Beside Edmund, Peter braced to fight.  _ Right, because this worked so well last time, _ Edmund thought, but before anyone could speak, a heart-wrenching cry rose from far below. 

_ “My King!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m sorry I ended it there, but this is six pages going on seven, and I’m hoping to wrap up Part I in one or two more chapters. For those who wanted Edmund angst, I tried. I am curious - I hope you don’t mind me asking - did anyone see this solution coming?


	9. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: right, the ethically questionable (or down-right wrong) people are mine while the world and the heroes aren’t. Somehow I’m not surprised.

Lucy ran to where Susan stood and found her trembling, a shaking hand over her mouth and her tears falling as she stared at a pile of stone. Lucy, glancing over, froze at the sight of a few feathery pieces. Knowing the statues crumbled at the slightest touch, Lucy understood and threw her arms around her sister, holding her tight.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to,” Susan cried.

“Hush.” Lucy patted her pockets with one hand, looking for a hanky. It was all she could offer in the face of Susan’s grief.

* * *

Above them Jumak, still shaking with the loss, with his  _ failure _ , stood and spread his wings. He knew where his king had rested. He knew who was in the courtyard. And he knew he would make them  _ pay _ for the loss of his purpose. For the loss of the  _ King _ .

* * *

Khonat also felt the death of the King. The pain of it had knocked him out of flight, the flight it took most of his remaining life to accomplish, for he had spelled himself to fly four times as fast as a Telar’s wings, fast enough to reach Narnia’s borders; and now he was faltering. He closed his eyes, knowing he would fall, though they were close enough he had not failed, the birds who led the army to the border would lead them to the Kings and Queens. But then claws wrapped around his stone arms, his wing, pulling and pushing, and they guided him to rest on something warm and moving. They were saving him, too. The wind still whistled around him, and he opened his eyes. 

The city of Telar was just below him, and there, on the highest road, were the Son of Adam Kings and a group of Telar still winded by what they felt. He opened his mouth to tell the Birds and winged Horse to dive, but there was no need. The Narnians had seen them.

* * *

Peter braced himself, ready to run or fight. The kneeling Telar still blocked their escape, but he had to be ready. Perhaps they could shove one aside —

Edmund grabbed his arm, pointing behind them, at the open air. Peter turned and stared, as stunned as the Telar around them. 

The sky was filled with Narnians. Birds, Griffyns, Pegasi, everything from Starlings to Eagles, larger than normal birds. On one of the winged Horses rode Khonat. 

Half streamed above the road, the other half flew below. Wingedfeather the Eagle opened his beak and screamed at the two Kings, “Jump! Jump, your Majesties!” Both Kings turned to face the edge, hesitating for a split second before leaping off the road. The Pegasi flew beneath them, both boys sliding onto their backs with a painful “Ooomph,” and flew back towards the tops of the trees, leaving the Telar behind.

Peter looked first for Edmund, catching his glance as they both made sure the other was safe. Then Peter looked back. The Telar were growing smaller as the Narnians flew away, Khonat having landed among them, but Peter saw their wings beginning to rise, to flap, and he turned to the Narnian he was riding, leaning forward to yell above the wind: “We have to find the Queens!”

* * *

“Oh, do stop, Susan. I’m sorry, but we have to save Edmund!” 

“But this was the King,” Susan choked out. She stifled her next cry and stood straighter, mopping her face with Lucy’s handkerchief. Her younger sister had frozen beside her. “He looked as if he grieved, Lucy.” She took a deep breath, beginning to wring out the handkerchief, when the sound of flying wings made them both look up. 

“ _ You killed my King! _ ” Jumak landed with a crack of stone under his feet, wings beating till the air pushed back the Queens’ hair, and the tears dried on Susan’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know!”

“I was his protector!” Jumak raged, his hands extending to grab them, to rend them or to take them in the air and throw them at the ground. Susan grabbed Lucy’s hand and turned to run, dodging around the ruined dais, praying they wouldn’t trip. She jumped over stones, panting for breath, the fear driving her to run and the guilt in the back of her mind, telling her this might be just. Wondering what Edmund would say. 

“Jumak! Stop!” Another Telar landed beside Jumak and Susan drew Lucy down, hiding behind the stones, panting and wondering if they would survive. 

“ _ They killed the King!  _ They killed him! He’s  _ gone,  _ Sirrioth! Even you can’t heal him, Juddahum.”

“Who killed him?”

“The taller Daughter of Eve! She touched him, and this —look, this is all that is left of him! These stones!” Jumak’s voice shook, and Susan heard one stone scraping softly against the other. “These were his wings.” His voice began thundering again, gaining volume. “Now they’re stone, because  _ they killed him! _ ”

“Then go find them. They ran for the forest.” 

“They will not live through the night,” Jumak swore, and the Queens heard the beat of his wings, receding quickly.

“You can come out now,” Juddahum called softly, and Susan and Lucy slowly stood, walking around the dais and standing before the Telar. Sirrioth drew Lucy into his arms, though he glared at Susan. 

“Did you kill our king?” 

Susan felt the water rise in her eyes, and she blinked, feeling the tears fall down her cheek. Lucy spoke up for her. “She did not mean to. It was like before, Juddahum, she wanted to help—”

“And she touched him,” Juddahum finished wearily. He looked down at the stones that lay in a pile, and Susan flinched. “And now he cannot mend my daughter.” He looked back at the two Queens, sorrow creasing his face till Susan was painfully reminded of the former King, of how much grief weighed down a heart. It hurt to see, but  _ Juddahum _ was not still, and perhaps she could help him, as she’d  _ tried _ to help the King. She listened as he spoke. “You tried to save your brother as I tried to save my daughter. Forgive me, please—please; but I cannot help you more.”

“Go to your daughter,” Susan commanded quietly. “We will do what we can to save you.” Her voice caught. “And I am sorry too.”

Juddahum looked to Sirrioth. “Remember we’ve only ever needed  _ one _ .” He threw back his wings, jumping into the air and flying for the house with his daughter outside. 

Sirrioth glared at Susan. “You killed our King, and I’d willingly let Jumak have you. But your sister is innocent, and young. For her sake I will bring you to safety.”

“What of our brothers?” Lucy asked, as Susan nodded her understanding.

“Susan! Lucy!” The chorus of voices calling made all three look up, and there, oh there were  _ Narnians! _ Eagles and Pegasi and Gryffins and so many more. And there were Peter and Edmund, coming like the Kings they were, their crowns shining in the filtered light. The other Pegasus landed, Susan scrambling onto it as soon as she could, and turning to lift Lucy up, only to find Sirrioth already lifting her up. 

“Go,” the Telar said. “Jumak and his followers will be seeking their deadly revenge, if you stay within our borders. If you are not within our borders, Khonat and Zedekah will keep him in check.”

“A sleepy leader and a dying second-in-command,  _ that _ will go well,” Susan heard Edmund murmur. A part of her thrilled to hear him speak, this reminder he was safe, while the other half of her wanted to cry and laugh at how  _ Edmund _ the comment was. 

“We will be away at once,” Peter responded, raising his voice to command the Narnians. “Give Khonat our thanks, for all he has done!” he called back as wings began to beat. Susan tensed at the sound, but there was warm skin beneath her, a mane beginning to fly back in her face, and no stone anywhere. They were  _ rescued _ , and safe—almost, that is. For behind them, as they rose through the bottom of the large trees, were other wingbeats, though the Telar were not close enough for Susan to see if they were being chased.

“Where are we going?” Susan heard Edmund call out. 

“There’s a troop of Narnians who followed us, Your Majesty! If we can get to them, we can stand and fight!” 

“Can we do anything to help?” Lucy called from behind Susan, her arms tightening. 

“Not at the moment, Your Majesties,” the Pegasus beneath them said in a strained voice. And so the four Pevensies fell quiet and let them fly.

The Telar did appear again during the flight, though the Narnians landed twice to switch the Kings and Queens to other flyers. They passed over the mountain before night fell and were flying down the side when they spotted the other Narnians: over twenty Centaurs and clan upon clan of Dwarves, each one with a pickaxe over his shoulder. 

The exhausted flyers landed, the ones with the Kings and Queens in front, and the Four soon disappeared behind a wave of warriors, the Black Dwarfs leaning on their pickaxes and spitting on the ground, and the Red Dwarves asking if they would get to fight the Telar after all—they hadn’t carried those pickaxes all the way for nothing, had they?—while clapping the Kings on their backs and bowing to the Queens. Oreius immediately began organising the group for speed, wanting nothing more than to get the Four back to Cair Paravel, and they left within minutes. 

He carried King Edmund himself, listening to the High King tell the story of all they had discovered, all while riding back into Narnia, towards home. They were a few miles past the border when they finally stopped and set up camp, and the Four curled up under Narnian blankets, in a Narnian forest, surrounded by their subjects guarding them from love. With Oreius standing within sight, his silhouette dark against the clear stars, the Four laid side by side, their heads near the fire. Edmund lay squished in the middle, next to Susan (at Lucy’s insistence, as Susan had said little after her fierce hug for her little brother). It took some time for them to settle, with small interruptions such as “Get off the corner of my blanket, Peter!” and “Lucy, your elbow’s sticking into my stomach,” and “If you jump on me again, my dinner is going to come up,” but none of the soldiers minded hearing the young voices playing, for play is often the surest sign of healing. 

But as it got darker, and the clearing filled with the sound of Dwarfs snoring (the ones that weren’t on watch), the Four became quieter, staring into the orange fire and listening to the sounds of Narnia, and of safety. 

“Do you think the Telar will find a way to heal themselves?” Lucy asked out of nowhere.

“I don’t think that’s possible, Lu,” Edmund put in quietly. Susan felt her heart twist. She’d been the one to ruin their chances, to cause the destruction of an entire race. She hadn’t meant to. And she hadn’t been willing for them to take Edmund’s life to save themselves either. But the King… 

“They do not have the power to heal themselves, and they have not, as far as we have seen, turned to Aslan to heal them,” Peter put in.

“Maybe they will now,” Lucy answered. “Maybe now, when they have nothing else, they’ll finally turn where they should have been looking all along.”

“I hope so,” Peter said quietly. He turned over, pulling his blanket up to his shoulder. “Goodnight, everyone. And Edmund, if you’re gone in the morning before I get up, I’m sending the grumpiest of the Black Dwarfs to find you and drag you back by your wrists.”   
Susan felt her heart lighten. “And if he’s not awake yet, I will,” she agreed with Peter. “Only I’ll ask them to be gentle bringing you back and  _ not to let you be alone _ till we reach Cair Paravel.”

“And me,” Lucy chimed in, pushing herself closer to Susan. 

“ _ Fine _ . Goodnight,” Edmund grumbled. “I should have stayed in Telar,” he muttered under his breath, then “Ow!” as Peter rolled over and punched him. 

“It’s not called Telar,” Lucy corrected sleepily. “That’s their name, the statues. Juddahum said the land is called Telmar.”

“It’s a pretty name,” Susan murmured. She brushed Lucy’s hair back, and checked Edmund. His eyes were already closed. She looked one more time at Oreius—one more time, just to make sure they were safe, because they always were if he was near—and closed her own eyes, and fell to sleep.

**END OF PART I**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the happy ending. I usually write happy endings, and so for those who haven’t noticed, one of the genres for this particular tale is “Tragedy.” Part II contains the tragedy. If you want a happy ending, please stop here, and thank you very much for reading, that’s often what motivates me to write. Otherwise, Part II will begin next week, and, well—I’ll try my hand at a tragedy for the first time.


	10. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of the Tragedy. Ye who seek a joyful ending, cease thine perusal on the prior chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: If you haven’t learned this by my 56th story, when will you? None of this is really mine.

Lucy woke up quite uncomfortable. Susan lay close on one side, a furnace of heat, and her blankets were still cocooned around her, so she was warm. The sky was still dark, the light of dawn just hovering in the east.* The ground was never as comfortable as her bed, but it was smooth and grassy. But for some reason her head hurt.

Oh, the metal of her crown had bumped against the campfire stones during the night, and now it was digging into her head. She rolled onto her back, to get the crown away from the stones, and yawned. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

And immediately opened them again, sitting up. Her hand reached up to touch the hard, intricate metal of her very familiar accessory. 

She was still wearing it. The campfire stones hadn’t budged it off her head. She curled her fingers around the front portion—this felt very familiar by now—and tugged. 

It didn’t move.

Lucy sighed, lay back down, and went to sleep. 

When she woke, a couple hours later, it was because Susan was stirring beside her. Lucy did not want to wake up. She didn’t want to deal with the problem that, somehow, still hung around their heads. She turned on her side, eyes traveling from Susan’s crown to the eyes moving rapidly beneath closed eyelids, and Lucy smiled as an idea occurred to her. It probably wasn’t something she _should_ do, and it was more of an Edmund idea, but, well, it might be fun. It might make them all laugh as the day began. As Susan’s eyelids fluttered open, Lucy leaned close and whispered “Boo!”

Susan yelped, pushing Lucy back with both arms and pushing herself straight into Edmund, who, without stirring or waking at all, responded to the laws of nature and crashed into Peter. Peter woke at once, his hand grabbing Rhindon and unsheathing it in a half-second. Not fully awake, he used his sword to rip his restraining blanket in one long tear, springing to his feet while blinking and looking for trouble. Several of the Narnians who’d been sleeping around the campfire also jumped to their feet, struggling for their weapons and looking wildly for a threat. Their questions, grunts, and alarmed whinnies broke through to the slowly stirring Edmund. He sat up heavily, blinking, to discover Peter standing over him with a sword. His brother’s face began to crease into a deep scowl, Susan was breathing heavily, a tear falling from the corner of her eye, and Lucy sat looking very, very sorry. 

Lucy did feel extremely sorry. _This was probably why some pranks were better left to Edmund_ , she thought, _since he judged the results of them better than she did. Unless it was against Peter._

Lucy put her arms around Susan. “I’m sorry,” she offered in a small voice, wiping the one tear away. Susan’s shoulders trembled in small tremors, and Lucy could hear the way her breaths were far too quick. “I didn’t mean to scare you that badly.” Peter looked about to say something, but Susan shook her head at him, and patted Lucy’s arm around her shoulder, and Peter sheathed his sword and sat back down, still scowling. He took a moment to erase the scowl before nodding at the Narnians, who set down their pickaxes and swords. Lucy heard a few grumbles as they got back in bed—particularly from the Dwarfs—before looking back at her siblings. Edmund was staring straight at her.

“I think Oreius might have you start waking all the troops for breakfast,” he said with a straight face. Lucyhesitated, unsure if he was mocking or teasing her. One dark eye closed as he winked.

She looked down, fighting to hold in her smile at his solidarity. She didn’t want her older siblings any grumpier at the moment.

“Oh, haha, very funny,” Peter retorted. 

“Come on, you know it was. You should have seen yourself, High King Peter the Mighty standing over his sleeping siblings, a ruined blanket at his feet!”

“Let me see,” Lucy heard Susan ask, and she heard the rustling of heavy cloth as the blanket was passed over. Lucy still didn’t look up, since she was pretty sure Edmund would make her laugh. “It can be mended, but not invisibly. What were you thinking, Peter?”

“That something hit me and yesterday we were fleeing a stone army,” Peter snapped, and the rest went quiet. 

“Sorry,” Lucy said again softly, after a moment. Peter sighed.

“I apologise for my temper.”

“Peace all round, then, and now that that’s finished, I’m going to point out what should have been obvious to all of us.” Edmund looked around the circle. “I suppose it isn’t, since we’ve become so accustomed to them, but it appears none of our crowns came off during the night.” The two older siblings paused, both reaching towards their crowns and tugging. Lucy didn’t bother trying.

Peter sat with a sigh. “I suppose it’s too much to hope the spell will just wear off.”

“If it doesn’t, what will happen as we get older?” Susan asked, and Lucy winced at the image of the immovable circle growing too small for her head. 

“We’ll go home, find out what we can about their magic, and how we can help them. That’s enough to start.” Peter got back to his feet, turning towards the campfire. “For now let’s just have breakfast.”

There was a river nearby, and several of the soldiers went fishing with the Kings, while the girls helped others pack up the campsite. Somewhere between rolling up blankets and stomping down the small piles of dirt the pickaxes had made, the cleaned fish made it onto the fire, and the air filled with the scent of a mouth-watering breakfast. Nearby Squirrels, alerted to the presence of their Sovereigns by Birds, added nuts, and Dryads brought herbs and berries. It was a much better meal than the one in the Telar’s dwelling, Lucy decided. They broke camp soon afterwards, and began the long ride back to Cair Paravel. There was no sign of pursuit. 

“Oreius?” Lucy asked. It was her turn to ride the Centaur, though messengers had gone to Cair Paravel and would presumably return with horses. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you think the Telar will come back?”

“I think we would make sure they regretted coming near you again.”

“But I think they might.”

“Why does your Majesty think so?”

“Because evil things don’t give up easily,” Lucy said, remembering the way the Fell had attacked again and again, in the years since they were beaten. “And the Telar that aren’t evil are desperate.”

Oreius was quiet. “I will see to your Majesties’ safety,” he promised at length. 

“Thank you, Oreius. I’m going to start carrying my dagger, too.” She waited, still thinking. “Oreius?”

“Yes?” 

“The Telar had these people who were to keep the King safe, one in particular, named Jumak.” Lucy hesitated. “If one of us were killed, Oreius, what would you do to the one who killed him?”

“I would see justice done, and that swiftly,” Oreius promised, and Lucy shivered.

“But what if it was an accident?”

“An accident?”

“Susan killed the Telar King by accident.” Lucy’s voice fell to a whisper as she remembered that scream, the scream that hadn’t made sense to her at the time. Jumak’s cry of “ _My King!_ ” had shot through her with heartbreaking anguish.

“Your brother told me nothing of this.”

“He wasn’t there.”

“How?” Lucy looked up sharply at his tone, for it was curious, weighing, and she knew, suddenly, what he was thinking. What a soldier thinks, when he hears one of his enemies have been killed. 

“They fall still if they use too much magic, and when they are, they’re helpless. They’re so frail a single touch can crumble them.”

“And so Queen Susan saved her brother with a touch,” Oreius murmured.

“It’s hard _not_ to touch them,” Lucy confessed. “They look so sad, some of them. Like I used to imagine Mr. Tumnus looked, after she turned him to stone.”

Oreius said nothing for a few more steps, and then Lucy felt his sides heave out and in with a sigh. “And so they live in a city of victims. Victims of their own magic, and their own inability to let someone else save them.”

Lucy didn’t answer, but she rested her head on his back at the compassion in his words. 

* * *

They camped another night. Their horses, soldiers, and worried friends met them in the morning. Susan bore the chaos as gracefully as she could, but she longed for home, for _quiet_. She dreamed of the crumbled King’s face shattering every night, waking with tears falling down her cheeks, cold in the night air. She’d slow her breathing, looking at the stars and seeking their peace. She held determinedly to her resolution not to wake her siblings. 

And she succeeded. They woke in the morning (Oreius standing over them and calling them respectfully this time, though Susan noticed his mouth twitched when he woke Lucy), ate, cleaned up the camp, mounted, and before the sun rose fully over the trees they were on their way again. 

And the ride dragged on. Susan could feel the weight of what she’d done pressing on her heart. There were moments of joy—she’d look over and see Edmund riding, eyes alert, or hear him laugh when Peter challenged him to this or that game, the Dwarfs egging them on and Lucy joining in—and Lucy winning. But Susan had no heart for games. She had won Edmund’s life, and she _didn’t regret it_ , she told herself fiercely. She hadn’t meant to kill the King, and she had saved Aslan’s King, _her brother_ , in doing so, and that should be enough.

But the way he’d looked—she kept remembering. The way he’d just fallen, as if he hadn’t the strength to hold himself together any longer-

Had that passed through the touch to her?

As the hours went on she felt the same, like her soul was cracking in pieces, and she could barely hold herself together. Her siblings noticed something, riding closer to her as the day wore on, trying to draw her out in conversation, Lucy mentioning the beauty of Narnia as they rode through it—but that just made it harder. How could she break if there were people around?

They stopped earlier than usual, and Susan wondered if they’d stopped for her, if it was that obvious. She slipped away from the camp as soon as she could . They were days into Narnia now, almost home, in a wooded forest too thick for the Telar to fly. She’d be safe here. She just had to get _away_. She slipped around the trees, patting the one that moved out of her way—it must be a Dryad’s home—till she finally came to a place where the crowding branches blocked even the light, too small for the Telar, too small for any but the smaller animals. She sat at the foot of the tree, folding her arms around her knees, and trying to breathe. She waited.

Her knees grew hot against her face as she breathed into them, but the feeling of breaking within didn’t go away. She did not know how to heal herself. 

It was then that she noticed the area around her growing light, the darkness turning to gold, the poking limbs of trees outlined black against it. This was a Golden Light she knew. 

She hid from it, burying her head back in her knees. Not now, not when she was hurting, when the guilt would be written all over the hand that touched that shattered King, _not now_.

“Susan.” The warmth breath washed over her, and she shivered. His voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard, and she wondered if He knew. But He did, He had to. This Lion who breathed stone back to life must know she’d done the opposite. “You did not mean him harm.”

“I didn’t,” Susan blurted, crying. “I didn’t mean to, Aslan, I didn’t mean to hurt him. But he crumbled, and it’s all my fault.” The great golden head moved closer, resting on her shoulder, and she turned to bury her head in His mane as she’d once buried her hands, and the wild, sweet smell surrounded her. 

“All things have their time.”

“Even Kings?”

“Kings, nations, empires, and worlds, all but My Country must end. Only there is life everlasting.” Susan shuddered at the finality of it, holding tight to the golden hair. “He would have forgiven you, child.” 

Susan slowly let go, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “He would have?” 

“He had seen too much of suffering not to know what was in your heart when you reached out. But you are not reacting as you should. Tell me, fair one, what did the Telar do that they should not have?”

“They used magic to try to fix themselves,” Susan whispered.

“And what are you doing here alone?” Susan did not answer, for though she had not tried magic, she had tried to fix herself. “Go to your family, beloved. Even now your sister is telling them what happened in the courtyard, and they will be ready to receive you. You are not meant to bear this alone.” With a Lion’s kiss on her forehead, Aslan was gone. 

Susan wiped her eyes, shaking her fingers to get rid of the drops, and stood, dusting the dirt off her skirt. She smoothed her hair as best she could under the crown, hoped her eyes were clear, and walked back to camp. She nodded as the Dwarf sentries bowed, their beards sweeping the ground, and then she was through them and heading for the campfire. She walked quietly enough she could hear Lucy saying, “And then I got there and there were pieces of him all over, and Susan was crying, saying he was the King. And seconds later Jumak appeared, furious, and we had to run, and there wasn’t time to think about it-” and Susan heard the waver in her sister’s voice, and suddenly the same compassion that had moved her with the King moved her now, with better results. She walked into the circle, reaching to Lucy with one arm.

“Susan…” Edmund’s voice trailed off, staring at her anxiously, and beside her Lucy snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around Susan’s waist. 

“What can we do?” Peter asked quietly. Susan saw his eyes, as warm as the firelight they reflected, and as strong as the living stone arms had been. 

“This is enough,” Susan replied, realising it was true. Lucy’s arms around her waist, Peter’s question, Edmund’s stare—it was a love that filled the cracks inside, cracks that would fade with time. “But Peter, I never want to go to war again.” 

“I will do my best to make sure you never have to.” 

The Four sat in silence for a while. 

“Something is still haunting you,” Edmund said suddenly, his eyes still on Susan. Lucy looked up inquiringly, and Susan sighed and looked back at Edmund. 

“I am so glad you’re safe,” she said softly. “But I can’t help wondering—what if I knew?”

“If you knew?”

“If I knew he was the King, and a single touch could kill him and save your life. If I knew-”

“What would you have done,” Lucy finished for her. Susan looked back at her brother, seeking his judgement. And Peter’s, for though Peter did not weigh hearts as Edmund had begun to, he did what was right with an unfailing heart. 

Edmund was slowly shredding a piece of grass as he thought. “We’re not told what would have happened,” he said slowly. 

“No, but what _should_ have happened?” Peter answered. “Think on it, Ed—on the one hand, he’s helpless, and it’s not like he was a part of Zedekah’s plan, not an _active_ part, anyway. But on the other hand, he’s the King.”

“And is therefore never quite an innocent bystander, for he represents the country at war.” Edmund grimaced. “But when you say he was not a part of Zedekah’s plan, it’s just that he _was_. Their plan needed him.”

“But if you’d seen his face—oh, Edmund, he never would have wanted it. He would have hated that they killed you for his life.” Susan felt her eyes fill again, and let Lucy go to cover her face, to breathe for a moment. Lucy’s arms stayed wrapped around her waist, and Susan felt again the love in her family’s regard, no longer smothering, after her conversation with Aslan. She dropped her hands. “If it had been a choice between you and him—what should I have done?”

“Could you have killed the helpless, knowing he wanted you to, to save your brother?” Edmund let out his breath. “I’m-”

The sound of cracking branches, faint heavy footsteps, and Dwarf shouts interrupted him, and the Four reacted, the boys grabbing their swords, Susan grabbing Lucy’s hand as she stood, ready to run. Red and Black Dwarfs surrounded them, pickaxes held in their hands. All of them listened, waiting with quick breaths and tensed muscles.

“It sounded like a large bear,” Peter said. “Talking, Friendly, or Fell?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Edmund said grimly. “Hear the footsteps getting closer?”

“And the shouts, your Majesties,” a Dwarf put in. “That’s my cousin, and he’d wake a Giant.” 

They paused again, listening. The Dwarf voices got louder, finally loud enough to make out.

“Come on, then, if you say you come in peace. But no tricks!” A minute later several Dwarfs spilled into the clearing, and walking behind them was a large, bear-like figure, grey in the firelight, but wingless.

“Khonat?” four voices asked at once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I know this is entirely unrelated and unnecessary, but if Narnia is a flat world, and the sun moves around it, then actually there’s no guarantee the sun does rise in the east and set in the west. Which was a funny thought to me. trustingHim17 pointed out the sun rose for the first time in Narnia’s eastern sky, though, so Lewis kept it consistent. :)


	11. Under Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Telar, and I suppose you could wish me joy of them.

“Khonat, your wing,” Lucy breathed, and Edmund’s eyes went to the space behind the Telar’s back where his wing had arched up. There was nothing there. 

“Khonat, what-” Susan began, but the Telar cut her off.

“I must speak,” he gasped out. “They took my wing as punishment - I used too much. I am falling into sleep, Majesties. I can’t - I have to tell you, it’s not over.”

“Your Majesties?” came Oreius’ tense voice, his sword still in hand, and Edmund remembered he could not understand the Telar.

“It’s all right, Oreius, he is our friend, and the one who arranged our rescue,” Peter quietly reassured. He stepped forward, addressing Khonat. “Our crowns still won’t come off. But with the Telar King dead” - Susan flinched but drew again on the peace she’d found with Aslan - “how can they be used to restore the Telar? Did the Telar appoint a new king?”

Khonat’s eyes kept closing and opening as he fought to stay awake. “We cannot appoint a new king - not by law, given the great magic - the council are still, cannot vote - but the  _ Queen _ -”

Edmund caught on first, for even in Narnia, beings had a father  _ and _ a mother, and Khonat had guarded a prince. “Sacrificing a king for a queen?” he asked, trying to calm himself as adrenaline flooded his body. 

“Not possible,” Khonat responded, eyes closing and staying closed. “Sacrifice must be same. Queen for queen. Still not right. Coming...” His head bowed, closed eyes looking towards the ground, and he ceased moving, even to the rise and fall of his chest.

“Step back from him,” Susan ordered sharply, looking at the Narnians. “Do not touch him!” All the Dwarves took a step back, and another, retreating in a circle from the statue.

“Oh, Khonat,” Lucy murmured, eyes sad. 

“This is a still Telar?” Oreius asked after a moment. “And the others wish to sacrifice King Edmund for their queen?”

“No,” Edmund said, still fighting the rising panic as the full meaning of Khonat’s words —of who the Telar hunted now—sunk in.

“No,” Peter echoed. “They mean to take a queen.” The eyes of all the Narnians turned to Susan and Lucy, standing side by side. 

“They will not succeed!” Oreius said sharply, and Peter nodded in grim agreement. “The trees provide some cover now, your Majesties, but it is only temporary.”

“Should we go back to Cair Paravel?” Susan asked, her voice trembling.

“They know of it, and it may not be safe,” Oreius answered. “I would not advise it, Your Majesties.”

“Then where?” Peter asked.

One of the Dwarves stepped forward, carefully going around the still Khonat. “Majesties, if these be creatures of the sky, the best place would probably be underground. If I could offer my humble home-”

“Well thought of,” Peter commended. “Is it large enough for two?”

“For four,” Susan put in sharply, but Peter shook his head. 

“They’re only after you and Lucy now. Edmund and I are useless to them, and we need to end the threat once and for all.”

“They can still use you as hostages,” Susan argued back, her voice high with fear. “I’ve already walked away once, not knowing if I’d see either of you again; do not ask me to do that again, Peter.” 

“They have not used hostages yet,” but Peter’s voice was softer. 

“And do you expect us to just sit and  _ wait _ ?” Lucy asked.

“That’s  _ exactly _ what I expect. You and Susan had to walk away; I had to watch Edmund fall, unable to do anything. I’m not able to go through that again, not any more than Susan is.”

“But this won’t be over till they’re healed,” Lucy argued back, though her voice grew quieter at Peter’s pain. “And maybe not even then, not with Jumak—he loved his king, and I don’t think he’ll ever let us go.”

“Let  _ me _ go, you mean,” Susan interrupted. “Peter—Lucy needs to go somewhere other than with me. Jumak will be hunting me.”

“Wherever we go, we should go there swiftly, your Majesties,” Oreius said gravely. “The Telar are swift, and I do not know how they hunt.”

“To my home, then, your Majesties?”

“Please, Peter. For now, at least, let it be all four of us?” Susan begged, and Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“For now.”

“Lead us to your home by the most forested paths,” Oreius commanded the Black Dwarf, who bowed low, shouldered his pick-axe, and led the way forward. Peter followed after him, Edmund falling in at his side, and Susan and Lucy followed, Oreius a protecting shadow just behind them. His sword was unsheathed, even in the forest, and his eyes wary. Edmund glanced back often, reassuring himself that his sisters were still there. He looked from the Centaur to the other protector who had offered himself for them, Khonat still and quiet in the clearing. They could not move him without crumbling him, but Edmund felt weary with the challenge of how to help the Telar. Though they  _ must _ help, for Khonat’s sake. 

“What are we going to do?” he asked Peter in a quiet voice, hoping the girls would not hear.

“We’ll discuss that when all  _ four _ of us are listening,” came his older sister’s voice, and Peter gave him a sympathetic glance. 

“Well, we all seem to be listening now,” Edmund responded dryly, more loudly than a whisper, but still quiet in deference to their flight. “Peter?”

“One of us has to get back to the Cair, to try to find out if there’s another way to heal the Telar, or stop their magic. And one of us should stay with the girls, because Susan has a point about Jumak. But if we can heal the Telar, maybe the Queen will be the right sort and order him to stand down. Or maybe he’ll lose all his support.”

“If I read his character aright, that may not stay him,” Oreius cautioned. “Forgive me, my Queen, I do not wish to frighten you.”

“It’s all right, Oreius. You would be the one who knows how a protector would feel about his charges,” Susan responded quietly. 

“Do we know if pick-axes work against the Telar?” Peter asked.

“It has not been tested yet, Your Majesty,” the Dwarf immediately behind the Centaur grunted.

“I’ve yet to meet a stone a pick-axe won’t split open. They won’t stand a chance, your Majesties. Dwarf promise.”

“If you could reach higher than their stomachs, I might be a little more reassured,” Edmund muttered under his breath. He ducked under a branch. “Which of us is going to the Cair, and which of us is staying?” he asked Peter.

“You’re better at research,” Peter reminded him. And Edmund  _ knew _ Peter had been going to say that. Fortunately, he knew what to say to get his way and stay with the girls. He wasn’t sure he could leave them, not when he had felt what the Telar would do to one of them, if they caught them. 

Probably to Lucy, if they went for the youngest again. He  _ would not _ let her experience that, the sucking away of life and energy as the crown grew hotter and hotter. He wouldn’t. And he knew what to say to Peter so Peter wouldn’t let him go to the Cair.

“So you want me going to the most likely point of attack?”

Peter stopped walking. “Edmund…”

Edmund shrugged. “Better me than you. I mean, they already had me, so they’re not likely to try the same trick again. And it’s not like they’d be bothered, that they didn’t get it to work last time. No, I’m sure they’ll handle me as carefully as they did the Rabbits, and decide I’m useless, quite the opposite of last time.”

“ _ Edmund _ ,” said Susan severely behind them, and Edmund looked over his shoulder to give her a quick wink with the eye Peter couldn’t see.

“I know what you’re doing,” Peter growled. “You-”

“What? I said I’d go.” Peter ran his hand through his hair again, and Edmund did his best to keep a straight face.

“I actually think your powers of concentration might be greater at this point in time, High King,” Oreius put in, and Edmund scowled. Okay, the Centaur was helping, but still! “And there is a solution that none of us have discussed.”* He paused, waiting till the Four turned to face him. “We could eliminate the threat to Narnia’s Queens the same way we dealt with the threat to its Kings.”

It took a moment for what he meant to catch on, and then Susan’s quick “ _ No! _ ” nearly rang through the trees. Lucy bit her lip.

Peter turned to the Centaur, his forehead furrowing as he spoke.“Oreius, we were talking about this before, around the campfire, and the fact is, the royalty are passive in this.”

“Non-combatants,” Edmund added, “though as royalty they are directly involved in their country’s wars. Susan was asking if we could kill one helpless victim to save another.” 

“And your thoughts?” Oreius asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter answered honestly. “It feels like killing one hostage to save another. Even if the hostage is willing to die, which we don’t know if the Queen is, I do not know whether it would be justified in Aslan’s eyes.”

“Though in this case, we’re killing a victim inadvertently killing a second victim. We’re stopping a murder—through killing an innocent.” Edmund looked at Peter. “Let’s just try to find a way to heal them instead.”

“And deal with the question when it comes,” Peter finished. He looked at Oreius. “Thank you for saying what none of us had seen, General.” The Centaur bowed, and then gestured forward. “We should get under cover, Your Majesties.” 

Not much more was said until they reached the underground home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My thanks to Southwest Expat, who helped me puzzle through some of the ethics of this strategy. I’m still not certain of the moral ground here, but much more certain than I was, thanks to her help!


	12. Separated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: oh no, I almost forgot the disclaimer and now all of you think I own Narnia!

The group of Narnians did not make it inside the Dwarf’s home. Though he led them by the most thickly wooded paths, and though the Dryads, at the request of Birds who went ahead, wove their branches above the road, they had not gone more than an hour when the branches above the path began to crack. The Narnians looked up, eyes going wide in shock at the bodies falling through the trees. The Telar slammed down from a great height, breaking branches as they went and landing at a crouch before the Narnians. Zedekah stood in the front.

“You made me fail,” he rumbled at the Kings and Queens, frozen at the front. Susan saw, with a twisting heart, the weight she’d seen in the Telar King’s face, only more poorly born. “We stood ready to sacrifice all for the sake of our kind, even our own morality, and you undid it with a touch!” 

“Narnians, to arms!” Oreius shouted, and the Dwarves rushed forward, pick-axes held out, only to stop at Peter’s raised hand.

“It is murder to take the life of an unwilling being, even to save a race. Begone, trespassers in Narnia, for what we did, we did in ignorance, while your actions were knowingly evil.”

“Not without what we need,” Zedekah roared, taking a step forward. Edmund and Peter closed ranks in front of the Queens, Susan still looking at the Telar above Edmund’s head. A moment later, she started as Oreius’s arms came around her and Lucy both, a strong promise to keep them safe. Zedekah saw and laughed. “Do you think you can stop me? I took the warring halves and put them together! I saw the plan that would bring our loved ones back to life! I have kept myself awake by the hands of my followers long past when I should have slept! I made the spell to lead us to you even now! I will take what I must, Kings of Narnia, as I have always done! What I must, and no more, and save our race by my own hands!” 

“You will not turn aside from your evil?” 

Zedekah spread his wings, flapping them to hover over the Narnians. “I will take what we need! Our need outweighs any morality!”

“Narnians, to arms!” Peter called, shoving the girls back, Susan falling against Oreius’s legs. The Dwarves rushed forward again, pick-axes raised, their short, sturdy arms bulging with clenched muscles. Peter, unarmed but for Oreius’s spare sword, took several steps back. He forced his siblings and the General back as well, and Susan nearly fell as Oreius’s large steps pulled her and Lucy away from the battle ahead. The Telar swatted the first Dwarves away with low sweeps of stone arms, but the stubborn Dwarves soon took their picks to the arms themselves, shattering them as they swept forward. One Telar’s arm lay on the ground, then another, then five. The Telar backed away, staring. The Dwarves grunted, stepping forward with rhythmic steps, pick-axes raised. The Telar began backing away, and Zedekah thundered from above their heads. 

“To the air! We are creatures of the air!” Instantly the Telar leaped into flight, hovering out of reach. As one, they turned towards Adam’s race and their protector. Oreius unsheathed his double-handed broadsword, swinging it around, its weight and momentum daring the Telar to come closer and be shattered. Beneath its protecting circle, Peter shoved his siblings’ heads down, one hand on each sister, ducking closer to the ground himself. 

“Get down!” The Four crouched, the Dwarves running back to stand around them; to reach the Four the Telar would have to go through the axes. For a moment, the two parties stayed still but for the beating stone wings, waiting to see who would make the first move. Had the Narnians won?

“Our lives for the race of Telar!” Zedekah screamed, and his loyalists dove at his command. Down they swarmed, wings, arms, feet shattering at the blows of soldiers. Stone shards rained down on the Narnians, cutting their faces, hands, any exposed skin, and the Telar without wings began falling. A few caught themselves by magic, but others were not quick enough, and soon the Dwarves began dogging the falling bodies, aware if they stayed they would be crushed. The circle around the Four widened, and Peter grabbed Edmund’s arm, pulling his ear close.

“Edmund! Get the girls out! Under Oreius, where the Dwarves are thickest, run for the woods! I’ll draw Zedekah!”

“Peter!” Susan protested, but the High King flashed her one glance, and she bent her head. Edmund’s hand grabbed her fingers, pulling her under Oreius, who stood absolutely still to give them cover, and the three crawled back, blocked from the view of those in the air. 

“Zedekah! Leader of the fallen! Cease this at once! Look at your own people falling!” they heard Peter thunder, and Zedekah’s voice yelled a moment later.

“The older King! In the trees! Follow him, he’ll be with the Queens!”

But he wasn’t, Susan thought. Oh, Peter, I hope they still keep to not harming those they don’t need. The three ran at a crouch through the Dwarves, heading the opposite way. The Narnians, busy chasing their air-born enemies to keep their rulers safe, spared no more than passing glances. The Telar were flying after Peter, and Susan, seeing a thicket ahead, pulled on Edmund’s hand, taking them into the middle of it. She dropped to her knees and climbed under the thorny branches, right into the middle. She grabbed the handfuls of fallen leaves and balanced them on the branches above, hiding herself and her loved ones from sight; Edmund and Lucy caught on quickly, and added their own handfuls, carefully winding the branches together to bear the weight. Susan, noticing both her siblings continually pricking their fingers, took over the weaving with her light and delicate touch. She swiftly turned the thorns into a canopy that Lucy and Edmund could fill. When they had finished and were hidden from above, they sat there for a moment, panting.

“Do you think Peter will be okay?” Lucy asked quietly, drawing her knees beneath her chin. 

“He had a group of Dwarves ready to take on the entire Telar empire chasing after him,” Edmund whispered, the dryness of his tone still clear. “I think he’ll be fine.”

“And Oreius would have taken off after him, once we reached the trees safely,” Susan soothed. She was trying not to think about Peter, running through the woods with only a sword, drawing off an army. 

“Shhh!” Edmund hissed, tensing. All three fell silent as they heard the ominous sound of deep wingbeats, too large and deep for a Narnian bird, or even a Gryffin. A sound they knew from hours of hearing it while being carried. 

The wingbeats grew fainter, and Susan sighed, drawing her own knees up as she copied Lucy. “Do we have a plan for our next step?” The whisper seemed loud in the silence.

“I don't have one,” Edmund grimaced. 

“We can stay here at least overnight,” Lucy offered. “I don’t think they can find us. And perhaps Peter and Oreius will send scouts—Squirrels and things—to tell us when it’s safe.”

“If we’re here overnight we’d better start by making a place large enough to sleep,” Susan pointed out, reaching for the roots of the bushes nearest her and snapping them off. She wove them into the canopy, making it stronger, and also ran her fingers across the dirt, feeling with delicate fingers for any stones or roots. Edmund and Lucy joined her, and for the next few minutes, the only sound was the rustling of dead leaves and the quiet snapping of vines. 

Then they heard the wingbeats return. The three froze, not a finger moving, and to Susan’s ears their own breathing seemed loud. 

The wingbeats ceased, a loud crashing and breaking of limbs sounding close. Then quiet.

A whisper followed it. “Little Lucy?” 

Lucy looked at the other two in the shade of the thicket. “Sirrioth,” she mouthed at them. Edmund and Susan glanced at each other. Then the King reached down with a finger and dug it into the mud, quietly writing “Trust?” 

Susan frowned. She remembered Sirrioth drawing Lucy into his arms, refusing to alert Jumak to their presence. But he’d looked at Susan with hatred—he was capable of both. She shrugged, unsure, and Edmund frowned, questioning. Susan pointed at Lucy and made a heart on her chest. Lucy looked from one to the other. 

“Little Lucy, we must hurry! They are close! I need to fly you back to the tall four-legged one! He waits with the King, and says to tell you as a token that his name is Oreius!”

The three looked at each other, and then the two Queens were scrambling out, Edmund a bit more hesitant behind them. They emerged from the thicket, and Edmund stopped them from rushing ahead. He walked in front of them, placing a cautious hand on each shoulder as he passed. He halted once they reached a small clearing, shoving each gently behind a large tree and mouthing “Do not let yourselves be seen.”* He walked forward alone, squaring himself.

“Sirrioth!”

“Smaller King!” The crashing grew louder, and Sirrioth’s large stone figure ran into view. “The others are coming,” he said urgently. 

“Do you have a watchword for me, Sirrioth?”

“Aslan is safety, the taller King said it, but not to shout it out.”

“And Narnia is freedom,” Edmund said, relaxing. “Lucy! Susan! Come out!” 

They’d already been emerging from the trees once they heard, and came up quickly to where the two stood. 

“Thank magic! I am to fly you to them at once. Come, little Lucy,” and he stooped and grabbed her with gentle, cradling hands. “I will tell the others where you are!” he called over his shoulder as he launched them both into the sky.

Susan watched until they were distant, a weight off her chest now that she knew that Lucy would be safe. 

“We’d better get back under cover till he returns,” Edmund pointed out, turning back to the thicket. Susan followed, but stopped him before he could crouch to return to the tunnel.

“I need you to promise me something,” she told him seriously, and he straightened at her tone. 

“What does my Queen require?”

“Promise me that if it comes to a choice between the Queen of the Telar and myself, you will not with full knowledge do what I did.” He said nothing, though his eyes went distant. She grabbed his arm, pulling on it to bring him back. “Edmund, promise me.”

He sighed. “I can’t, Su,” he replied softly.

“You have to! Otherwise, how are we different from Zedekah? He’s willing to sacrifice one innocent life for hundreds of others; how can we tell him that’s wrong, if we’d sacrifice another innocent life for mine?”

“Or Lucy’s?” Edmund questioned, and Susan drew back as if he’d burned her. If it came down to the Queen or Lucy-

How was she to make that choice?

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one telling me it’s not right?” she choked out, beginning to cry. Edmund looked at her, and a moment later his arms came around her shoulders. He was getting taller, and they fit there easily now. She ached with how much he’d had to grow up, taller, and wiser.

“It’s not quite the same, Susan. You are innocent of all connection to this; their Queen is not. She used so much magic she became still. What she is, and what will happen to her in a few years even without a touch, is the result of her own choices. Furthermore, she is the Queen of those who continue to make those choices, who would sacrifice you, or Lucy, both unrelated victims, so they may continue in their choices. She is not fully innocent in this; if she were, she would not be still. Between her life and a truly innocent one - Susan, there is no choice.”

“But he was _helpless_ , Edmund. And he looked so _sad_ …” Susan felt Edmund’s hand reach up and smooth her head, fingers bumping into the metal circlet. 

“One may repent of one’s choices and still have to bear the consequences,” Edmund said grimly. “Though I would spare them that if I could, they don’t seem to be allowing us much time to find a way to help them.”

Time. She pulled her head back. “Then we find a way to get more time, and we find a way to help them.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffing back everything in her nose, then digging in her pockets for the hanky she still had from Lucy. “Edmund, till then—promise me you won’t do anything to their queen. That is a weight I do not want on your shoulders.”

Edmund looked at her, and sorrowfully he shook his head. “I cannot. I am sorry,” he said simply. He took her hand and got to his knees, tugging her down as well. “Aslan entrusted your safety to me, to Peter, to Narnia, and His command is one we dare not fail.” His tone, coming from ahead, took a wry turn. “Don’t think I don’t see the irony of me arguing this side, after what happened in Telar.”

* * *

Flying in a Telar’s arms seemed almost normal now. Lucy ducked her head into his shoulder so the wind didn’t hit her face, but she didn’t tell him to slow down. The sooner he got her back to Peter, the sooner he could go back for Susan. 

It was when she heard the other wingbeats that she jerked her head up. She saw Jumak hovering right in front of them, six Telar right behind him.

“This one?” they called coldly, and Lucy’s blood chilled.

_Aslan. Was this a betrayal all along?_ But Sirrioth’s arms tightened around her.

“No! This is the other one. You swore her safety if I helped you!” 

_Helped?_

Jumak cast a scornful look at her. “She is not the one who killed my King. I care not for her, nor Zedekah’s silly quest. Where is the murderer?”

“Beyond the three trees that stretch to the sky there are small prints in the mud. If you follow them to the darker parts, the other two will be huddled beneath it.”

“No!” Lucy screamed, twisting, but Jumak nodded and dove for the woods below, Lucy’s outstretched hand powerless. “Take me back!” she yelled at Sirrioth. “Take me back! We have to help them!”

“No.” The word was whispered over her head, and the immovable arms closed more tightly around her. “You, I will save. I swore it. We need only one Queen, and it will not be you. You, I will deliver safely to your brother.”

“But my sister! You have to take me back to help her!” 

The Telar’s face looked down at her, creasing into sorrowful lines as he saw her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I am sorry for your grief, but no.” He looked back at the woods. “They will have her by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, I stole that. Kudos to you if you know where it’s from.


	13. Crownless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, this is it. The chapter that contains the one-page one-shot that started the entire story. Susan’s fall. 
> 
> Warning: one of the Telar says unpleasantly violent things. 

Sirrioth landed by the Narnians, and Lucy fled from his arms to Peter’s. 

“Peter, they went after Susan,” she cried, trembling. Jumak’s cold voice, his anger, all directed at Susan-

Peter looked towards Sirrioth, but Lucy shook her head. “He told them where to find her,” she choked out, and she felt Peter’s whole body tense.

“You said you would  _ help _ .” 

“I swore to help the one I loved as my own. She will be safe now.”

“I thought you were another Khonat.” Lucy shivered at the anger in Peter’s tone. 

Sirrioth’s wings flapped uneasily. “He was a fool. I do not let my morals get in the way of the survival of my race.”

“Just love, then. And your love saved her life and destroyed her heart.” Peter’s arms tightened around Lucy. “Didn’t you learn anything from the half-life of your own race?” Sirrioth did not respond. “For your crime against the Gentle Queen, your own life should be forfeit. If we find her dead, Sirrioth, do not appear in my presence again. But for the sake of Lucy’s life I grant yours, for as long as you can keep it. Go.” Still sheltering his sister under his arms, he moved to Oreius. “We need to find them. Now.”

“They’re to the north, not far from where we met the Telar,” Lucy informed them, wiping her nose. She took a deep breath. She would be brave. Susan was not lost yet, and Aslan was on their side. 

That was enough for hope. She ignored the faltering sound of stone wings behind her as Sirrioth took off.

* * *

In the thicket, the other two looked up as the wingbeats grew louder—many of them. Edmund pushed Susan towards the tunnel, ready to run, but neither moved yet. They thought there was a chance they would not be seen.

Then, right above their heads, stone hands grabbed the vines and ripped them out by the roots. 

“Run!” Edmund yelled, shoving Susan through first, for she was their target. She  _ had _ to get away. She crawled forward, unable to actually run through the tiny tunnel, and then shouts echoed above them, the Telar’s hands ripping open the top of the tunnel. Edmund threw himself over her, sheltering her the only way he could, both crawling forward like spiders running from a cat. 

“They are here! Rip away the vines!”

“Jumak, stop!” another voice called, and both humans froze for a moment, panting. 

“I will not!” As quietly as they could, both humans began moving forward again, inch by inch, as above them two forces of Telar hovered facing each other. Zedekah spoke again.

“We need her to revive the others.”   
“What do I care for the others!” Jumak screamed. “My king! She killed my king!”

“Give her to us, and she will still die. Your King,  _ our _ King, will be avenged.“ The two were almost at the end of the tunnel now.

“You—she would die painlessly! No! I will rip her limb from limb! I will tear her to pieces and throw them beside the pieces of my King!  _ I will be the one to punish her! _ ” They two shoved themselves to their feet, and began running, as quietly as they could, towards the thickest of the woods. A moment later they heard a scream of frustration. “Where is she?  _ Where is she?! _ ”

“Edmund, you have to get away,” Susan panted, words gasped between breaths. “I—can lead—them elsewhere.”

“That would make you—an idiot—like Peter. And  _ no _ .” He grabbed her hand, holding tightly, dodging behind a tree. Behind them branches cracked and shouts echoed. Closing his eyes, he prayed Aslan would keep them hidden.

* * *

Lucy, Peter, and the others headed for the thicket, only to begin running as they saw Telar converging not far ahead. Lucy, with shorter legs than the others, fell behind. And so it was that she was far enough away to see five Telar splitting off from the battle in the air, and she changed direction to run after them.

* * *

“What do—we do—now?” Susan gasped.

“Run—till Peter—or Oreius—finds us. Run!” The last word came out a screech, for at that moment a Telar crashed in front of them, and the two dodged to the side. The long arms reached for them, Edmund ducked, pulling Susan down, and rolled away. He grabbed her hand again, pulling her up, and the two dodged behind a tree, faster than the large Telar in close quarters. 

_ What would they do when the woods thinned? _

A moment later Edmund felt Susan’s fingers ripped away from his, and he turned. Zedekah had flown by magic, his wings still so he could weave between the trees. Edmund had not heard him, and could do nothing as Zedekah snatched up Susan.

“No!” Edmund screamed. “No! Susan!” 

“Edmund!” Lucy’s voice, distant, but he couldn’t turn to look for her. He couldn’t take his eyes off the Telar flying away with Susan. He scrambled after, yelling all the while.

“Lucy! The Telar have Susan! In the air!”

“Edmund!” The voice was fainter now, but Edmund couldn’t wait. He was running, tripping, catching himself, still unable to look away from the sky. Zedekah was far faster, but he had  _ Susan _ . 

Wait, they were descending! Edmund pushed himself, trying to go faster, and ran straight into a rotting tree. He fell to the ground, the tree wobbling above him, creaking at its base. He scrambled to his feet, and realised just ahead of him gutted a narrow canyon, a black crack carved in the Narnia’s crust, too deep to see the bottom. 

Susan and the Telar were on the other side. 

_ Aslan, help me. _

The canyon was almost narrow enough to jump, but if he failed—Susan’s life rode on that as well.

The tree! Barely more than a sapling, but wide enough to walk across! 

At that moment Edmund heard a noise building, words carried by the wind to his ears. “ A queen for a queen, for the defense of the Telar. A life for a life, for the defense of the Telar.”  _ No. _

“Edmund!” came a scream from across the chasm, and Edmund’s heart twisted.

“Susan! I’m coming! Just hold on—I’m making a bridge! I’ll be a moment more!  _ Hold on! _ ” Edmund slammed himself into the tree one more time, driven by the chant. It creaked. He did it again, ignoring the pain that began screaming from his bruises. It creaked, swayed, and with a crash, it fell.

Muffled by its crash, he nevertheless heard his sister’s voice call to him: “Hurry Edmund!”

A last crack of branches, and the limbs stopped the rolling trunk. He sprang, steady-footed, and crossed the chasm in five steps. Across, he sprang to the ground, just in time to hear his sister scream, the chant cease. He ran, around a tree, through a few more, panting, and halted-

There in a clearing lay his sister, spilled on the ground. Her head was crownless.

He was too late.

The Telar were flying away, the Queen’s crown gripped in one stone hand and glinting in the sun. But  _ Susan _ —he raced towards her.

“Please,” he whispered. He reached her, kneeling in a breathless instant. He reached out to touch her. He felt her neck carefully, her arms, found no breaks, and rolled her over, brushing her hair from her face. “Susan, can you hear me?”  _ Aslan, let her hear me. _ “Susan, wake up. Look at me.” But she was still.

He slapped her white unmoving face. She didn’t wake. No, no, she could  _ not _ be—he held his hand above her mouth, holding his own breath. Wait. Wait. His lungs demanded air but he would not give it to them, not till he knew she was breathing. Not till he knew she wasn’t-

There! A gentle whisper on his fingers, and Edmund breathed again. He had not known when life fled from one Queen to the other. He knew most of the life in his limbs had gone to the crown, but they had been numb, not lifeless. If she still breathed, they had time.

They had to find the gargoyle Queen. They had to make sure Susan’s crown never touched her head. Because this, Susan laying still in his arms, was a nightmare that  _ would not _ become reality.

“Edmund!” Lucy’s voice called from the other side of the chasm, farther up, and Edmund looked up.

“Lucy! Down here!”

“I’m coming!”

She appeared a few moments later, twigs in her hair, skirts torn, running towards him as swiftly as a Stag. He held his hand up, warning her. “There’s a chasm!” She stopped, almost stumbling, and looked down at her feet instead of at her brother. She began to look around, and he waved at his rough bridge. “Use the tree!” He waited, gathering Susan’s head into his lap, pulling her head up and her mouth open, ready for the moment Lucy reached them. 

He had forgotten he would have to watch his younger sister cross the chasm, certain death on either side, and he held his breath again, lungs pulling painfully, but she crossed it with light feet, striding through the branches and running towards him once she reached the ground. “Your cordial!” he called, and he was close enough to see her eyes widen, her hands instantly reaching towards her neck. She let herself fall beside them, already unscrewing the bottle. “Hurry,” he begged, knowing she already was, but it was all he could do. Lucy held the bottle over Susan’s open mouth and a single shining drop fell out. Edmund closed her mouth and watched her swallow.

She gasped, breathing in one deep breath, eyes flying open, seeing him—and shutting again. Her breathing slowed. Her color faded. Lucy held her hand over Susan’s mouth, calling her name, before looking up at Edmund.

“She’s barely alive. Edmund, why? The cordial always works!”

Edmund bent forward, touching his sister’s forehead with his own. “It transfers all her life to the crown,” he whispered. “Everything we give her, it takes away.”

“Then we  _ have _ to find the Telar’s Queen. It’s where they’ll take her crown.” He looked up to see Lucy tucking away her cordial, and he took a breath and nodded. He stood, bent down, and lifted Susan. Lucy spoke as he gained his feet. 

“There are Horses close by, I passed them huddled against a threat they didn’t understand. I’ll go and ask them for help, to carry her. Can you make it across the tree with her?” Edmund blessed his sister’s common sense as he nodded, and Lucy took a moment, just a moment, to slide Susan’s hair from her face before running again.

Leaving Edmund with the sister he had failed. 

_ Oh, Peter, is this what you felt when they chanted and I fell? _

_ If I fail at this—I would give anything to go back to that moment and stop Susan’s hand, let them take me, gladly give my life. We can’t let them take hers! _


	14. Racing the Telar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: not the product of Lewis’s incredible imagination and intelligent brain.  
> Warning for battle scenes.

Hoofbeats thudded in the woods, and Edmund looked up in time to see Lucy jumping the chasm on horseback. Oreius would have been proud.

She slid off a moment later, the Horses shuffling behind her. “Susan?” she asked, one arm reaching out, the other balanced against the roan horse.

Edmund’s throat tightened. “No change. Help me get her up. We’ve got to get her where Jumak can’t find her, just in case.” Lucy nodded, but as she turned back to the Horse, the animal knelt.

“I cannot jump the chasm with all three of you, Your Majesties,” the Mare offered humbly, holding quite still as Edmund placed his sister across the broad back. 

“You go, Edmund,” Lucy offered quietly. Edmund hesitated—there were still enemies in the woods—but Lucy saw his face and shook her head. “They have a crown, and Jumak has no interest in me. I’ll set out to follow them— _ carefully _ ,” she added as Edmund began to protest. “But we’ve got to find them. Susan doesn’t have time for us to argue about it, and I’m not afraid.”

_ Aslan, had it come to this? _ Edmund wrestled.  _ Trading Lucy’s safety for the hope of Susan’s life? _ But Lucy was right, and Edmund knew it. He knew, also, what it meant to be the younger trying to save the elder sibling. He opened his mouth to tell her so, when a shout rang across their clearing.

“Edmund!” 

Edmund and Lucy turned as one, Edmund with a hand still on Susan’s still body, the Horse patiently waiting underneath her. 

“Peter!” Lucy called back, her clear voice carrying back easily. “We’re over here!”

A moment later the High King appeared, sword out as he panted. His eyes swept over them, and Edmund suddenly couldn’t look at his older brother.

He stayed still, eyes down, hearing Peter’s footsteps come closer, pound into the tree-bridge, and stop. “Susan!” his brother gasped, and Edmund flinched.

“She’s still alive,” he heard Lucy reassure quickly. “They took her crown, but she’s still breathing.”

Silence. Edmund knew Peter was touching Susan’s neck, holding his hand over her mouth—reassuring himself that she lived. Above those small noises, he could hear the breathing and footsteps of the Narnians spilling out of the wood behind Peter, crossing the bridge, and circling them. The ugly fearful, angry gasps and mutters at the sight of the Gentle Queen died away. Peter was probably straightening her on the horse. Then Edmund heard his brother move, and a hand clasped his arm. 

“We’ll stop them.” Edmund looked up then, knowing the words were Peter’s oath. Peter’s face was set, knowing this thing had to be done, and trusting that what had to be done would be, by Aslan’s will. Peter, stalwart and true,  _ wouldn’t _ fail Susan. 

As Edmund had. “We will try,” the younger brother responded quietly. “Peter, we don’t even know where we’re going. Or how to solve this when we get there.” But he waited, listening, because Peter was older, and Peter  _ had _ to have the answers. 

“Which way did they fly?” Peter demanded, and Emdund turned to point towards the mountain. “Then we follow.” Peter turned to Lucy. “Stay with your sister and half the Dwarves. The Telar are fighting among themselves, and their forces are a third of what they were, but  _ take no chances _ .” He picked her up and set her behind Susan, steading them as the Mare rose. 

“Diggertaut, you and your clan stay with the Queens,” Oreius ordered, and Edmund glanced around to see several black-bearded Dwarves nodding, tightening their hands on their pickaxes. 

“Peter? Edmund?” Both Kings turned back at Lucy’s soft voice. She presented a brave face, but Edmund couldn’t help noticing her arms were trembling around Susan. “Save her?”

Edmund nodded, seeing Peter do the same, and Lucy gathered up a handful of mane, asking the Horse to move. Once they were under the cover of the trees, the rest of the Narnians turned towards the mountain.

“We cannot match their speed if they’re flying,” Peter said grimly, eyes on the mountain as his breathing finally steadied after his run to find his siblings. 

“It takes time to prepare the spell, with all the lines in the ground,” Edmund reminded him. “But if they’re all the way back in Telar—”

“I do not think they are.” Oreius’s hoofbeats sounded behind them. “It would be best if I explained as we go, my Kings. We should follow this chasm.” 

Peter began walking at once, setting the steady, fast pace the army practiced. The Centaurs, two Bears (new, Peter explained to Edmund, having come across the fight and joined to help), and the remaining Dwarves fell in behind, a few of them muttering something about “Dwarves are natural sprinters,” and “We’re very dangerous over short distances.”*

There was no more talking for the next hour, all the Narnians working on regulating their breathing for the fast pace. 

“Oreius?” Edmund asked breathlessly as they slowed their march to a walk for the ten-minute rest. 

“Yes, my King?” he answered from just behind the Kings. Edmund tried not to feel annoyed that the warrior was not breathless in the least. 

“Why are we following the chasm?”

Oreius hesitated. “A legend, King Edmund.” 

“We’re risking Susan’s life on a  _ legend _ ?” Edmund snapped harshly. 

“We have no other path to follow. This path does lead to the mountain, and that is where we saw the Telar flying.”

Edmund paused. “What is the legend?” he asked more quietly.

“Near the beginning of the White Witch’s reign, a neighboring Queen came asking for an exchange. She would teach the White Witch her magic if the White Witch taught her in turn. But the White Witch suffered no rivals. Though she agreed to a meeting, she brought with her soldiers to entrap the Queen, planning to ambush her. The battle between the Witch and the Queen carved deep chasms in the ground, running from the cave where they met far into the snow-filled forest.” 

“You think the other Queen might be from Telmar?” Peter broke in, looking thoughtfully at the chasm on their side.

“It is said that the White Witch came back from their battle and began turning her enemies into statues of stone.”

“And if the Telar Queen fought using magic, she might have used so much she became still,” Edmund added thoughtfully. “And gave Jadis a taste for that particular punishment.”

Oreius nodded. Edmund looked at Peter, who shrugged. “It’s worth a try,” The conversation dissolved as their pace picked up again.

The forced march brought them nearer to the mountain within three hours, though their pace slowed as they came across more chasms running outward from the mountain. Again and again they had to swerve around them or build bridges if the chasm had zigzagged horizontally from the mountain. One of the Dwarves had an axe instead of a pickaxe, and he quickly cut down bridges, but Edmund and Peter paced at every stop. Edmund remembered Susan’s white face, her body dropped on the ground like a used napkin, and shuddered. 

“Rest, your Majesties, while you can,” Oreius instructed at one such stop, but the new bridge came crashing down before the two could sit, and once again they were off. 

The longer they marched, the harder it grew harder  _ not _ to picture Susan’s breath stopping, her body dying by Lucy’s side, wherever the Queens had found shelter. The spell could have been completed, and the Kings would never know until they returned and found their living—and dead—sisters. Edmund’s hands grew cold at the thought.

At last, the mountain drew near. The chasms all ran to the mouth of a cave, joining each other to become one large rent in the earth. Peter settled his sword, glanced at his brother, back at his army to check their readiness, and then crept forward, keeping to the woods on one side. Edmund moved quietly at his side, an extra pickaxe in one hand. They slipped closer, and Edmund breathed out as he heard sounds inside.

The sounds of digging, of earth moving, and of rock clinking against rock. 

The Telar were here. They were here, and by the sounds of it, the Kings were not too late. Edmund slipped inside the cave immediately after Peter, edging alone one side to avoid the deadly drop at his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he frowned.

The Telar posted no guards; perhaps they felt they didn’t need to. The cave opened from a narrow mouth into a wide space, becoming dark quickly, with only a few natural pillars, and in it, scattered far apart, were five Telar silhouettes digging, and one standing with his wings still, his head slightly bent, almost the pose of the still. His shoulders still rose and fell with his breathing, however, and Edmund’s stomach clenched at the glint of gold in his hand. And there, in the middle, stood a Telar who was actually still, with moss covering her wings and shoulders. One stone hand stretched towards the mouth of the cave, thrown out in defense or attack.  _ Probably attack, _ thought Edmund with a touch of fear. The chasm on the floor began at the end of her fingers. 

He inched his way forward behind Peter, the Dwarves following so silently he had to glance back to see them. If the Telar weren’t so preoccupied with their own digging, they would have surely seen the Narnians.

But there were only six. Surely they could get—

“Zedekah!” Edmund jumped as the Telar nearest the entrance snapped out the name, and he clenched his fingers more tightly around his weapon. “Zedekah!”

The Telar holding the crown shifted slightly. 

“Zedekah!!”  _ This was it _ , Edmund thought,  _ the time for battle. Finally. _ Only the Telar didn’t turn their way.

“Jedehyah, wake him up!” the Telar insisted, and the Telar closest to Zedekah flew over and shook his shoulder. 

“What?” Zedekah asked gruffly, shaking his wings.

“You cannot sleep! There are not enough of us now—we need you!” Edmund let his fingers slowly unclench as the Telar leader looked at the lines in the floor closest to him.

“Then this is taking too long,” he rumbled. “Jedehyah, Sirrioth, Armenek, and you…” he blinked, slowly, wings moving back and forth as if to fan himself, to keep himself awake. “Kirreth, that’s it, the four of you go and find the others.” Peter sped up his pace, still hugging the wall and bringing them away from the entrance. He led them into the shadowed parts where there were no Telar-dug lines. “Bring them back, even Jumak if he’s there. The sooner the lines are carved, the sooner it is finished.” He blinked again, waiting. The four Telar set down their tools—Edmund biting his lip to keep his anger quiet at the sight of Sirrioth helping to kill one sister after saving the other—and flew out without another word. Edmund hoped the Bears and Centaurs were out of sight outside. “I will walk, to keep myself awake, Juddahum. But do not let me sleep.” The Telar nearest them kept careful watch as his leader began walking towards the back of the cave, muttering, “Do not sleep. It is almost finished. It is almost done. I have almost done it.” The crown was still in his hand. Edmund’s sight narrowed down to that one thing, slender lines of gold in a large circle, half-hidden in large stone fingers. 

Then Peter moved forward, working his way towards the Telar with his back to them. Edmund moved at his side, the Dwarves shuffling behind them. Once they were within striking range—Edmund had seen Dwarves throw pickaxes, and with their archer’s aim and sturdy arms, they were  _ good _ —Peter set his sword point down and spoke.

“Juddahum.” 

The healer whirled, taking a step back and raising his arm threateningly. 

“Give me back my sister’s crown.” 

“Or what?” the Telar asked warily, eyes flickering from Peter to the group of Dwarves he led.

“Or your life will end, right here and now.”

Juddahum’s eyes came back to Peter. “Do you really think that would matter?” he asked softly. “I do this for my daughter, and if I die in the attempt, my life for hers has always, always been a trade I would sell my soul for.”

Peter’s face hardened, and he raised his hand, the Dwarves raising their pickaxes as well. 

But the High King did not let his arm fall, and Juddahum regarded him warily. 

“Why haven’t you called out?” Peter asked suddenly, voice breaking the stillness of the cave. “Your friends are not too far away, and Zedekah—is he so frail you do not want us near him?”   
An expression of surprise swept over Juddahum’s face, and then he laughed, a short, half-bitter laugh. “Zedekah could end you with one sweep of his arm. He chose, Boy and King, to spare all of you but one. No, I do not call because-” He halted. “I believe in what we’re doing,” he said, almost to himself. “I do. It  _ must  _ be done.” But his eyes turned to Edmund, to the first sacrifice. “But I cannot make myself do it,” he murmured. “I cannot stand here, with your eyes looking at me, and bring death on you. Can’t you just give us this? For our young, for our future?  _ Can’t you see we don’t have a choice? _ ”

“There is always a choice.” Edmund remembered other times, other choices he had made, and the way those choices had taken away his freedom to make any future choices. “And sometimes the choice lies between death or evil, but that is  _ still _ a choice.” 

Juddahum looked at him, studying him. “I can’t make that choice for my daughter,” he whispered. “I—can’t.”

“Fools!” Zedekah’s voice suddenly roared. “Idiot youths! You cannot stop my plan!” The Telar leader soared into view, his wings beating, fists clenched. “Juddahum! Carve the lines! I will deal with them!” 

“Ware, my Kings!” came the call from outside, and then the sound of metal hitting stone. Edmund lifted his pickaxe, but he did not have the arms of the Dwarves, and three of those sailed past him, heading to the furious Telar. Juddahum looked up and jumped, flinging his wings wide, shielding the leader. Two pickaxes shattered both his arms, the third sailing over his wings, and he crashed to the cave floor. 

“I will end you!” Zedekah bellowed, and swooped at Peter, who met him with his sword, three Dwaves rushing forward with their weapons raised. Edmund rushed past them, weapon ready, to where Juddahum lay. The large Telar looked over at him, and Edmund lowered his weapon. 

“You can no longer dig. Go to your daughter, to spend what time she has left at her side.” Juddahum looked from him to the Queen, to the crown still clenched in the dodging, fighting leader’s fist. He looked at the floor, gathered his strength—Edmund tensed again—and flew out of the cave and up, over the mountain. 

Edmund turned towards the Queen, taking a single step towards her.  _ Could he do what Susan had done? _

He never answered that question. A stone palm backhanded him into a pillar and he slid to the floor, the cave going dark.

* * *

Both my kings were inside the cave, the life of their sister in their hands, and I would defend it. My hooves danced over the chasms, jumping farther than the two noble Bears who roared their defiance, and again and again my sword shattered the wings or arms of our enemies. I did not watch them fall into the chasms, focusing only on my next enemy.

Swing. Duck. Swing, backhand, overhand, and  _ jump _ . A wing shattered there, another from his friend, and slowly the number of our enemies decreased. 

But I had ducked and jumped far away from the entrance, and my human heart gave a solid thump when I realised some of the Telar had made it inside. I did not expect the Telar’s reluctance to kill to last during battle. 

“To the cave!” I ordered at the top of my lungs, and ducking under a Telar soldier, I ran for the mouth, jumping over the chasm and staggering a few steps inside.

Only to see one King facing four airborne Telar, five short Dwarves around him, and the other King laying against a pillar, his eyes closed. 

No. They would not have a King and Queen; they would not have either one. I brought up my sword, ready to run to the High King’s aid, when I saw her.

A statue, as still as any of the White Witch’s had been, with green wings. The Bears rushed forward on either side, going to the High King’s aid, and a Centaur rushed towards King Edmund, but I could not take my eyes away from the Telar Queen. 

No. She was a victim, first of her own choices, yes, but then of the White Witch. I had no stomach to destroy her, and turned to the battle. 

I ran up behind the battle, calling, “Telar!” Two turned, and I swung my sword, causing one to duck, and the other to dive at me. I swung my sword up, smiling as he fell for my feint, and sheared a stone leg off. A Bear smacked down the second Telar. 

“Jumak!” the High King’s voice thundered, and the legless Telar turned. I backed a step away, allowing the King this battle. If this beast stalked Queen Susan—I longed to fight for her myself, but it was the High King’s right. “For the sake and safety of my sister, come to battle!” 

I would have watched—watched over, some of the soldiers would say—but wingbeats behind me brought my attention back to the cave mouth. More Telar flew in.

There were at least twenty, and I prayed Aslan’s blessing on my sword. The Dwarves could not help much if our enemies kept to the air, and there were no branches to force them down.

One of the Telar bellowed, the words grating on my ear, and half of the new Telar flew to the ground. The other half attacked, wings beating and arms swinging. I swung back with all my strength. One of the Bears went down, his roar of pain echoing in the cave, and I fought my way to him. Cut, swing, thrust, swing again, and he was up, still roaring. I glanced around in that split second and saw with a twisting stomach that half of the Telar ignored the battle, digging deep lines in the dirt with their large hands. I looked from them to the Dwarves, only to find them occupied by diving Telar, and the High King still fighting the one he had called Jumak. But the High King was a warrior born, and as I watched, he brought his sword hilt up just as the Telar dived, and the enemy’s head shattered on the metal. I brought my sword up, ready to join the battle, only to stop at King Edmund’s voice.

It was weak, filled with pain, and alarmed, and it was one I had trained myself to always hear. 

“Stop him!”

I twisted and saw one of the Telar flying towards the Queen of the Telar, gold glinting in his fist. 

A golden crown. One I had seen adorning the head of the Gentle Queen, unable to come off. The Telar holding it was reaching towards the head of his own Queen.

Time slowed. My Queen’s life, or allowing their Queen to be a murderer. Breathing a prayer, the single word of  _ Aslan _ , I threw my sword. 

I watched it spin, hilt then blade, heading towards the Queen, and prayed again I had done the right thing. The moment before the outstretched circlet touched her head, my sword hit the mossy wings. And I saw what my Gentle Queen had seen, the horror of a face and body crumbling at a touch. The Queen’s head turned to pebbles before the crown ever touched it. All within the cave froze.

* * *

“Our Queen.” The words came out a breathless moan, and Peter glanced over. It was Sirrioth, his hands stained with dirt from his digging. They fell to his sides, his wings coming to rest on his back. “Our Queen,” he whispered again. 

“NO!!” roared Zedekah, and Sirrioth looked up at him.

“It is over,” he rebuked wearily. “A Queen died, Zedekah, as you intended, and it was our own.”

“I will save us! I have to save us!” 

“You cannot.” The words were resigned, the wings of the former helper slumping till their tips brushed the floor. Sirrioth looked towards Peter, ignoring the shattered remains of Jumak at the High King’s feet. “It is the age of the children now. Our age is over.” His wings came to rest on his back, and his head lowered, eyes down. A moment later, he was still. 

Another Telar landed beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sirrioth crumbled. “Farewell, friend of the young,” the Telar whispered to the stones, and Peter’s heart ached, for the soldier was shorter and smaller than the others, and Peter did not doubt Sirrioth had looked after this young soldier as well. His hands also fell to his sides, his wings coming to rest on his back, and he, too, grew still. 

All around the cave, the Telar began landing, all but Zedekah. Their hands fell to their sides, their wings to their backs, and their eyes to the floor, defeat or resignation in their posture. One by one, they stopped breathing. 

* * *

Back in Telmar, Juddahum landed by his daughter. The moss had crept onto another feather while he was away, and his heart began to break.

He could not save her now.

* * *

“I. Am. Their Saviour! I was born to save them!” Zedekah pleaded, his voice echoing around the cave. Under the force of its sound three more Telar crumbled, and Zedekah froze. He fell to the ground, barely catching himself in time. He looked around at his people. At the statues and stones that were all that was left.

“But...there is nothing to save.” He looked at the pile of rubble at his feet, the pile that had once been his queen. He looked up at Peter. “Why must all of us fail?”

“All worlds, all nations, and all races draw to their end,” Oreius offered quietly from near Edmund. “Those who do not follow Aslan fall sooner rather than later. Without Him, none can be saved.”

“And that gave you reason to kill our Queen?” Zedekah growled, fury raising his wings.

“You made your Queen’s death necessary.” 

Zedekah paused. He looked at the rubble at his feet, and reached a hand to touch it. “I wanted to save her most of all,” he said softly. “I would have done anything to save her.” He looked back up at Oreius. “You would do the same for  _ them _ .”

The General shook his head. “No,” he responded. “I would not have done what you did.” Zedekah looked at him, the bitterness fading as his face smoothed out.

“You will never know that, not unless some day you face a kingdom where they are gone,” he whispered. His hands fell to his sides, and he let his last breath out with a sigh.

As he fell still, all the Telar in the cave crumbled.

* * *

Juddahum heard the sound of the Telar, all the ones Zedekah ruled, beginning to crumble, and if he could, he would have wept. He fell to his knees beside his daughter. He could not even touch her, for his healer’s hands were gone. And as she began to crumble, he touched her with his head, laying it on her little shoulder, and breathing in the moss.

Father and daughter crumbled together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you don’t recognise that I’ll confess myself surprised. Whatever I think of them in comparison to their books, I admit they were works of art.


	15. The Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: there is One who owns all endings, all sorrows, and all joys, and I am not Him. My work is but a poor imitation of His, and I hope it pleases.

Several hours from the mountain, Lucy and seven Dwarves guarded the Gentle Queen. The Dwarves had taken them underground through a tunnel too narrow for the Telar to enter. There Lucy sat by her sister’s side, holding the cold, limp hand in her own.

Suddenly, she felt something slide on top of her head. The metal of her crown gleamed in front of her eyes before falling into her lap, and Lucy’s breath rushed out of her body. She turned to Susan, scrambling, reaching her hand to Susan’s mouth, begging Aslan to let her sister still breathe. Begging Him to have let the spell end another way than because the Telar won. She touched Susan’s lips.

Her sister blinked, her mouth opening and closing, and Lucy felt the fingers she still held in her other hand fold around Lucy’s own. Susan’s eyes met hers. 

“Lucy?” whispered the Gentle Queen.

“Oh, Susan,” cried Lucy, wrapping her arms around her sister and beginning to cry in relief. 

Seven muttered thanks to Aslan filled in the small room.

* * *

The adrenaline left Edmund’s body aching and tired. All their enemies were dead, dead by their own choice, and Edmund wondered numbly if the Narnians could have stopped it any other way. 

Peter moved forward, walking towards the last of the Telar, Zedekah still and lifeless before remnants of his Queen. Without touching the statue, Peter placed his fingers around the gold circlet still held in Zedekah’s fist. 

The statue crumbled anyway, Peter watching it with pity and sternness in his eyes. Edmund’s heart eased. His High King, one with mercy that did not condone—the one who won back Susan’s crown. Edmund would follow him anywhere. 

“Your Majesty,” spoke a deep voice to the side, and Oreius’s callused fingers landed on Edmund’s shoulder. “How is your head?”

“It hurts,” Edmund said shortly, eyes still fixed on the circlet in Peter’s hand. Susan’s life, cradled in the High King’s grasp. They had to get it back to her; Edmund  _ had _ to see her eyes open again, hear her voice answer theirs.

A broad hand parted his hair, interrupting his thoughts. Edmund jerked away. Oreius knelt, awkward as horses are as they bend, holding Edmund’s arm with a firm grasp. “I need to look at your head, your Majesty. Head wounds can be dangerous on creatures without fur.”

“Oreius?” Peter asked behind them, but the General did not reply. He parted Edmund’s hair again, gently running his fingers around the bump. 

“It is not swelling much, nor bleeding, my King. The Healers should check it, but I think he will be fine to move.”

“Of course I’m fine to move,” Edmund growled, though he accepted Peter’s hand up, turning to offer his own hand to Oreius. Peter did the same. Oreius’ mouth twitched as he saw the two boys offering to help him up to twice their height, but he accepted them. 

“Your Majesty should ride on the way back,” Oreius advised. Edmund thought about protesting but knew if he walked their pace would be slower. 

“Anything to get back to Susan quickly,” he agreed, and Peter’s hand squeezed his shoulder. 

“Let’s go,” the High King said.

* * *

“Where am I?” Susan asked, after she’d soothed Lucy’s tears. 

“Underground, safe from the Telar,” Lucy answered.

“Peter and Edmund?”

“Chasing the Telar who took your crown. They should be all right,” Lucy added as a closed look came over Susan’s face. “Oreius and the others went with them.”

Susan did not respond.

“Should we go look for them?” Lucy asked quietly, calling Susan back from wherever her mind had gone. 

“Look for whom?” Susan questioned, blinking as she returned. 

“Peter and the others.”

“Do they know we’re here?” 

“No, and they’ll be worried,” Lucy added softly, remembering the horror in Edmund’s face and the resolve in Peter’s. 

“Then we should go find them. I would like to ask them how I was saved.” Lucy had no answer for that, and Susan turned to the Dwarves. “Good cousins, would you gather what Birds and creatures fleet of foot that you can and send them out to look for the Kings?” Susan asked, turning to the Dwarves. 

“I don’t like leaving you here by yourselves, your Majesties,” answered one of the Dwarves, a black-bearded one with bristling eyebrows and a grumpy face. 

“Then you can keep us company, and the others can go. We promise we won’t move,” said Lucy. 

“They should not be able to reach us here,” Susan assured when the Dwarves still hesitated. Bowing, four of the seven left, leaving the grumpy one and two of his companions. 

“What’s your name?” Susan asked.

“Diggertaut, your Majesty, and this here’s Brickborn, and he won’t talk to anyone he hasn’t known for ten years, he’s that bashful, and this is Eartaxe, only we call him annoying, as he’s always happy, which ain’t right in a Dwarf.” 

“I like that in any person,” Lucy responded, smiling at Eartaxe. He smiled widely back, teeth white in the black hair. 

“Squirrels are sent, and Birds say the coast is clear!” a Dwarf called down the tunnel, and Diggertaut frowned in its general direction. 

“No more news than that?” he yelled back. The girls winced at the volume of his voice.

“A Starling flock says all the statues flew towards the mountains,” echoed into the confined space. 

“Edmund and Peter,” Susan breathed, climbing to her feet. 

“We should go find them,” Lucy agreed, and Diggertaut scowled at both of them.

“I was told to keep the two of you safe, and that doesn’t mean following a flock of enemies into unknown territory outside of Narnia!” He paused. “Your Majesties,” he added as a grumpy afterthought.

“But I am no longer in need of quite so much guarding. My brothers may be. We leave now,” Susan commanded, and Lucy quickly stopped herself from smiling as her sister’s tone silenced the Dwarves' arguments, though not their doubts. Susan ignored that, moving swiftly down the tunnel before Diggertaut could object, and Lucy followed. 

“Now,” Lucy heard Susan say as the younger Queen climbed into the shadowed sunlight of the forest. “Which way did the statues go?” 

* * *

Peter kept a careful watch on Edmund as they went. His brother rode on Oreius, as they didn’t have horses, and Edmund had vehemently refused the female Bear’s offer to carry him like a cub. He had thanked the Bears for their help, however, and invited them to Cair Paravel the following week, Peter echoing the request. 

The pain began fading from Edmund’s face as they rode, and Peter took heart from that. Edmund had already come too close to paying in life and blood in this adventure. Susan too. 

Peter looked forward again, knowing if Edmund caught him watching his brother would grow irritated, but Edmund was the only one Peter  _ could _ watch. He knew they were in time to save Susan—they  _ had _ to be, and the Telar Queen hadn’t come to life, couldn’t have been touched by the crown. Peter looked down at the circlet in his hand. He hadn’t yielded it to anyone else to carry, though Edmund hadn’t asked. Both Kings had asked if anyone had seen Zedekah trying, and Oreius had assured both brothers that the head and crown had not touched. 

But Peter wanted to see Susan, to watch her move and breathe, to give her back her crown and see her hands reach to take it. To have any memory blot out that awful stillness. 

They reached one of the tree bridges and crossed, Oreius reaching back to make sure Edmund stayed balanced as he walked above the chasm.

“No, my King, you may not get down and walk over a precarious bridge placed on a deadly chasm while you have a possible head injury,” Peter heard. Peter had to smile—and it felt like the lightest thing he’d done in far too long. 

“How much further, do you think?” he asked, pushing his hair back and looking up at the setting sun. Part of Peter’s mind offered the idea of setting up camp before dark, but the rest of him resisted, wanting to push on till he found his sisters. How much further could it be?

“We’re close to where we first met that one Telar, but I doubt they’re here. There wasn’t much cover to hide in,” answered the Dwarf, and Peter frowned. He should have thought of that. 

“We should send out what scouts we can find-” he began, only to have a call interrupt him. 

“Peter!” 

Peter whirled, heart pounding at that voice. Edmund, higher than he was, saw their sisters first.

“Susan!” he called, sliding off Oreius so rapidly the Centaur’s hand missed catching him. “Susan!” 

Peter saw her then, a flash of white and green behind the trees, her skirts gathered in one hand. He ran, tripping on a tree root he didn’t see, eyes fixed on his sister. She was running, cheeks flushed, hair bouncing up and down, and skirts crinkling.

She  _ lived _ . 

Peter reached her seconds before Edmund, wrapping her in a hug, feeling Edmund crash into them a moment later, and he reached one arm around his brother, holding him close. He breathed in, his cheek resting on her head, Edmund’s shoulders under his arm, both of his threatened siblings present and safe. 

A small arm wrapped around his waist, and he lifted his head to look at Lucy. 

“Does anyone need the cordial?”

Peter laughed. Oh, what a joy she was, so valiant in her care! “No, my Queen, the most we suffered were bruises and headaches.”

“Speak for yourself,” came Edmund’s muffled voice. “I suffered quite a bit from worry.”

“I’m sorry,” answered Susan gently, and Peter closed his eyes again at the sound of it. When he’d seen her lying on the horse, as still as a corpse, he hadn’t known if he’d hear it again. Edmund didn’t lift his face as he answered her.

“Not your fault, Su.”

“Not yours either.” She waited, but when Edmund didn’t respond, Peter felt her move, and he let her, though he kept a hand on her shoulder, reaching to put the other on Lucy’s. Susan pushed Edmund back so he had to look at her. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Edmund ducked his head down. “I didn’t keep you safe.”

“I’m not sure anyone could have.” Susan hugged him once more. “It happened as Aslan arranged.”

Edmund let out his breath in a sigh. “True.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Susan.” He waited till she turned to him, and then offered her the golden circlet still in his hand. 

She looked at it, then back at him. Instead of reaching to take it, she sank down to her knees on the forest floor, her head bowed towards him, skirts spread like a Queen before a throne. Peter looked to his siblings, meeting their proud and joyful gazes, and with gentle hands set Susan’s crown on her head. He reached with both hands to lift her to her feet, and bowed to her in turn. 

“We give to you, restored, Queen Susan of Narnia,” proclaimed Edmund’s clear voice, and Peter turned to find the Narnians behind him bowing as well. He clasped Susan’s hand in his, Edmund holding hers on the other side and reaching for Lucy’s, and together, the Four acknowledged the homage of their people. 

It was a joyful moment, though one that did not last. “Your Majesties,” Oreius said respectfully, taking a few steps forward. “I present myself for judgement.” 

“For judgement?” asked the Four at once, though Edmund’s face grew grave a moment after asking.

“When Queen Susan’s crown nearly touched the head of the statue Queen, I knowingly threw my sword to shatter her. In doing so, though I did not know it at the time, I caused the destruction of the entire race.”

“The entire race?” Susan breathed. She opened her mouth in horror, her eyes wide. “All of them?”

“All of them we saw,” Peter responded, letting go of her hand to hold her arm. 

“But—Juddahum? Sirrioth? The smaller one who followed him around like a kitten?” Lucy asked in a whisper.

Edmund looked at her, and bowed his head. “They gave up hope when the Queen died.”

“But it wasn’t over!” Lucy objected, her arms flinging wide in protest. “We hadn’t even tried to help them yet!” Edmund reached over and pulled her to him, holding her, and she shuddered and began to cry. Susan leaned on Peter, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks as well. 

“All of them,” she grieved, and across the clearing the Dwarves rested their pickaxes and lowered their heads. But Edmund raised his and looked at Oreius. 

“As my sister’s protest proves, the race crumbled at their choice. Their deaths are not on your shoulders.” The General squared his shoulders and looked back at the King, eyes steady. “The death of the Queen is another matter, as she did die by your hand.”

“Oreius?” Susan lifted her head from Peter’s shoulder to look at her protector. 

“Zedekah held the crown above her brow, and it was a choice between your life and hers, my Queen. I cannot—it was the choice I made. I do not regret my choice, but I do offer it for the judgement of those above me.”

Susan hid her face back in Peter’s shoulder, and even Edmund turned to him. “By my judgement,” Edmund said quietly, “Oreius was the final act on the path where their choices led them.” In the quiet, they could all hear Lucy choke back a sob, and Edmund’s arms held her closer. Peter looked at Edmund a moment more, his brow furrowed. Slowly the High King looked back to Oreius and spoke.

“You fulfilled your duties as a soldier and protector of Narnia during an attack on her rulers. I thank you for the life of my sister,” and Peter’s arm tightened around her, “and for your faithful service. I do not condemn you.”

“Neither do I,” Susan said. Tears still rolled down her cheeks, and she paused to gain control of her voice. “I wish, with all my heart, that we had been able to save them, but I thank you for saving my life.” Oreius bowed his head.

“You were fighting our enemies, and you did it well,” Lucy put in from the circle of Edmund’s arms. “I do not think Aslan would condemn you for that.”

A pause where all eyes turned to Edmund. “Aslan died on the Stone Table for a traitor,” Edmund began slowly. “He died for me, a mercy I cannot repay, though I serve Him my whole life. His own wish to show that same mercy to all their enemies, to draw even their enemies to the Lion.” He hesitated, his eyes flickering from side to side as he searched for words. “We who love Him wish to be like Him, even in that. But there are those who will not receive that mercy. The Fell who followed the Witch would not receive Aslan’s mercy, and the Telar would not receive ours. It is right, then, for us to mourn them but not to condemn those who fought them.” Sure of his judgement now, his eyes went back to Oreius’ bowed head. “The Queen was condemned to death by her own actions, and you had to hasten her sentence in defense of your own Queen. You stand absolved by the Four of us.”

“Then let us mourn them,” Peter commanded in a strong, deep voice. Together, the Four knelt, Edmund’s arms still around Lucy, her hand reaching out to Susan’s, and Peter with one hand around Susan as he leaned on the sword his other hand had unsheathed. The Dwarves, with some muttering that Diggertaut quickly silenced, hesitantly knelt as well, and in front of them, Oreius also went to his knees. 

Around the clearing, the Dryads stilled the rustling of the trees, and all the small animal noises died away. The only sounds were the sounds of tears as Humans and even the Centaur wept for the people killed by their own lack of self-control and ability to receive mercy.

* * *

Lucy wiped her eyes on one sleeve, only to have Susan’s hand disappear from her own and appear a moment later holding a handkerchief. Lucy looked up to thank her, only to see the face of the One who comforts all holy sorrows. 

“Aslan,” she breathed, and the one word turned every face to the edge of the clearing where Aslan stood. His own tears fell down His golden face, falling to the ground in crystal drops. 

“Well done.” His voice, even in His own grief, carried a peace stronger than rivers. The Narnians felt their own tears flow more freely but their hearts calm in their grief. “There is one thing still to be done,” the Lion said, and each Narnian rose to his or her feet. “Follow me.”

Peter, sheathing his sword, offered his arm to Susan and followed without a word. Edmund and Lucy fell in next, Lucy again wiping away her tears and feeling truly safe for the first time since their kidnapping. Aslan was ahead. Behind her, she could hear the quiet footsteps of the rest of the Narnians.

He led them for an hour through the woods, and Lucy began to recognise the trees. She’d seen them while looking for Susan, that night before Khonat came, and as a thought occurred to her, the heart within her began to beat fast with hope. 

She looked ahead.

There, in the clearing where they had camped, stood Khonat. He remained still, his hands resting at his sides, his eyes looking down. But he was not in tiny stone pieces, and before him stood Aslan, the Lion whose very breath was life to the dead. Lucy looked at Him with her eyes shining.

The Narnians spilled out from behind her, spreading in a circle around the clearing as Aslan, drawing in a deep breath, blew on the large Telar. Lucy watched with dawning wonder as she saw what she’d seen before, legs turning from stone to flesh, color racing like a flame through the stomach, the shoulders, spreading to where his wings once reached and turning that air to white, fluffy feathers. Lucy caught back a cry of joy as she saw his flight restored. Her eyes flew back to the washing of color and life that was reaching, at last, the head. A moment later, Khonat blinked. “You  _ have _ to flee, your Maj-” 

His words ceased as he saw the Lion, and instantly, he fell to his knees. His shoulders heaved as he drew in gasps of air, needing to breathe for the first time in a hundred years but his breath taken away by the Lion before him.

“Peace,” Aslan reassured, His voice warm and strong. “You have done well.” He leaned forward and gave a Lion’s kiss, then turned to the Four. “Care for him well.” He turned and left.

No one spoke as He left, though all eyes watched Him, but after He was gone, the Four turned to their new charge and their former saviour. 

“Khonat,” said four voices at once, and his eyes turned to them. Susan walked forward first, taking his hand, and he started.

“I can feel that,” he said in wonder. He reached his other hand up and touched her shoulder. “I can feel that,” he said again. 

Lucy laughed, and stood on tiptoes to hug his shoulders, still hardly tall enough even as he knelt. “And this?”

“And that!” He looked from the two Queens to the two Kings. “All of you are well?”

“Yes,” Edmund returned gravely, walking to stand right before him. “But your people have perished.”

Khonat closed his eyes, his wings falling beneath the tops of his shoulders. “It is what we chose, when we chose magic as our saviour,” he whispered.

“Not we,” Lucy said fiercely. “Not  _ you _ . Aslan restored you to us.”

His eyes opened and turned to her, looking lost.

“You have our thanks for your help and our lives,” Peter said, his ringing voice drawing all attention. He stood tall, his crown on his head, and all the Narnians straightened in response. “If you would like to come, we would be pleased to give you a place in Narnia, to be a part of our people and under our care.” 

“To have a new home,” Lucy said, her small arms still around his shoulders.

“To give you a King to follow again,” Susan added softly.

“To  _ live _ ,” Edmund finished, and the Four waited.

“To live,” Khonat agreed, slowly getting to his feet. He bowed, hands clasped together, to each of his new Kings and Queens. “Thank you for my life,” he added quietly.

“Live it for Aslan, and we will thank you for it,” the crowned High King responded, and each of his siblings smiled in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: and thus ends my one-shot.   
> Ha ha ha. It’s 79 pages.


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